Objects of Desire
by keashaa
Summary: The dream team sign a magical contract promising to lose their virginities within the year, they soon fix on the objects of their desires, but will the bitterness left in the wake of the war prove too hurtful for love to exist? Author: Azrael Geffen
1. The Long Kiss Goodnight

**Objects of Desire**

 _Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (inclusive of Hogwarts School, all recognizable characters mentioned, and all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fan fiction and is considered by the author to be a respectful parody of Ms. Rowling's work whilst acknowledging its derivative status. No commercial use of this work is intended nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on._

 **Prologue**

 **The Long Kiss Goodnight**

Lucius Malfoy had always been one to err on the side of caution in most every enterprise that he undertook to do. The trick of successfully being Lucius Malfoy was to make sure that no one realized that he chose always to err on the side of caution. His choice of wife had been a prime example. He had wanted, rather desperately, to have a son who would look remarkably like himself, so he chose Narcissa over her sister Bellatrix because she looked so much more like him. He had been this way for almost his entire life, with a few notable exceptions, including the one that directly led him to his current quandary. He had thoroughly believed that the Dark Lord would win eventually and if he didn't, well, he was Lucius Malfoy and he had money, and money was supposed to speak volumes in the Ministry. Not it would seem, when he had been unmasked, sent to Azkaban and escaped only to have the damned Dark Lord defeated in battle by an adolescent boy. So in retrospect, no, that had not been one of his best choices.

He did not regret joining the Dark Lord. Being a Death Eater had afforded him pleasures that the common society would never have allowed, not to mention the sheer accumulation of power that had placed him in a league of his own. He was never supposed to found himself in his current predicament. Not that that was helping him now. What he did regret was that he hadn't had a back up plan in case it all went tits up, which it had done so spectacularly. Snape had told him, warned him even, but he hadn't listened. Severus Snape had done the right thing; a double agent, so that no matter who had won, Snape had come up smelling like the proverbial rose.

It was too late for that particular regret. He had watched the Dark Lord die, and Lucius supposed he could call him Voldemort now. He wasn't coming back, along with most of the people he had flippantly called his friends and then they had caught him with no less than seven stun spells. So it was three weeks at St Mungo's to get him fit for trial, then sent home for a week under a binding spell and then on to the Ministry to be tried, found guilty (inevitable really) and sentenced to receive the Kiss. Now why couldn't they have just decided to kill him? He had expected the Kiss, however, and that was where his magnificent cunning had kicked into action. At the Manor, before the trial when he had been weighing up the pluses and the minuses and coming up with _'Oh Merlin they're going to give me to the Dementors',_ he had found the potion he needed. Thanking all the Gods he could think of that he had known Severus Snape so very well for so very long and Lucius had watched the meticulous little git work in the minutest detail, that he confidently put the potion together and drank it.

He had been counting on the Ministry to allow his son to come and see him before the Kiss. It was something he should never have counted on and now he was in possibly a worse position than he the one in which he had started. Without being able to tell Draco what to do, he was going to have to rely on the hope that someone would figure it all out. What if no one did? Worse, what if someone did and just plainly didn't care less? On the face of it, that scenario looked to be a distinct possibility. No, this was not good at all.

He sat in silence, staring at the door in front of him and biting his nails. That bastion of moral indignation, Mad Eye Moody, was pacing around, smiling and whistling a merry little tune. Lucius had absolutely no doubt that the bastard had asked to be the one guarding him, and he hadn't seen a smile quite so large as the one Moody had displayed at his trial when the guilty verdict had come down. On the other side of the door, his wife was being _'kissed'_ good-bye in full view of around fifty spectators that included their own son.

The door opened all too soon and they carried his beautiful Narcissa out. He stared for a moment, taking in the familiar curves of her body, the blonde of her hair, and the regal up turn of her nose. She wasn't Narcissa any more though. Narcissa would never have allowed her mouth to hang slackly open like that, so that a thin stream of drool would run down the side of her face and pool in her hair, and her eyes, once blue and bright, were glazed and dead looking, like a fish kept out of water too long. There were fates worse than death and he was looking at the most horrifying aspect of it. His eyes widened and his mouth went dry, not from sorrow for his lost love, but from pure unadulterated fear.

"Your turn now, Malfoy", came the graveled, expectant voice of Mad-Eye Moody. The smile that Moody had displayed at his trial was back on the scarred and disfigured face in front of him, and one might go so far as to say that Moody was positively beaming. Lucius swallowed what little spit he had left and stood up, straightened his robes and smoothed his hair. They were nervous habits left over from childhood. _'Always straighten yourself out, and always make sure you look immaculate'._ From somewhere deep in his memory a voice further admonished; _'Lucius, brush your hair, you look like something a gnome dragged in'._

"Now don't you go worrying about prettying yourself up," Moody chuckled, "you're on a sure thing here, it'll enjoy kissing you all the same."

Lucius pursed his lips a little and stepped forward, concentrating hard on the process of putting one foot in front of the other as he walked with as much dignity as he could muster through the door.

***

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the front row of a small auditorium that he really didn't want to be in. He had watched his Mother go, watched her turn her face up to the Dementor as it came for her, and she had gone quietly. She had even closed her eyes as though it was a kiss of passion. It was so very typical of his mother. Nothing was going to make Narcissa Malfoy flinch. He had set his jaw completely solid and didn't blink. It wouldn't do to start crying now, as Narcissa would never have been able to abide that. He had wanted to leave then; Draco had seen enough, and he didn't need to see any more, but Narcissa and the three before her had been nothing but warm up acts. It was time for the main event, and Draco was required to stay for the entirety of the macabre spectacle. The Ministry had decreed that he should and would come, as a moral lesson to the son of a couple of Death Eaters. _'Don't do what your parents did! Look what has become of their folly'._

He sat between Albus Dumbledore and Snape. Dumbledore was on the judicial council and he had been one voice on the jury who had declared his Father guilty. Snape had come as moral support for Draco. Snape chose to sit in stony silence, whilst Dumbledore looked stern and unhappy. The elderly Wizard had made no secret of his disapproval of this _'Barbaric Act',_ but what other punishment could there be that would appeal to every member of the Wizarding community? Albus didn't believe in the Death Penalty either and Azkaban couldn't hold every transgressor. The public had cried out for the Kiss and Cornelius Fudge, his grip on power perilously close to failing, had given in to his public, for the good of the Wizarding World, of course.

His beloved father, Lucius, came through the door, followed by a positively glowing Moody. Lucius walked slowly, almost shuffling, with his eyes wide as he focused on the chair in front of him. His face was a mask of something that not one single person in the room would ever have thought they would see on Lucius Malfoy's face. Fear. Pure unadulterated fear. He sat down, unsteadily in the chair and turned his face, catching Draco's eye, gray meeting gray, along with a wealth of unsaid good-byes. Draco's fists balled in his lap, his knuckles turning white. He clenched his teeth and watched as his Father turned to face the Dementor…and panicked.

Lucius tried to get up, out of the chair, an instinctive reaction. The need to survive uppermost in his mind, and the Dementor swooped on Lucius as soon as he moved, smothering his strangled cry with its mouth. Draco felt a sob rise loud in his throat and escape, and he felt both Snape and Dumbledore grab him and still him. Lucius was struggling like someone being forcibly suffocated. His body writhed, as his hands flailed wildly at the Dementors back, hitting it ineffectually with ever failing strength. Lucius never thought to close his eyes against the horror. He kept them wide open and focused on the thing that was destroying him. A long slick tear streaked down the cheek visible to Draco and he howled muffled screams into the Dementor's sated throat.

Draco watched it happen. He watched as the flailing hands began to slow, fade somehow and suddenly a plethora of disjointed memories came storming over him like a torrential downpour. He was two and on a broom stick that flew only a foot off the ground and he was riding it, laughing with the gurgling laugh of a toddler, whilst his father was next to him, holding his hands, and turning on the spot so that he could fly around and around, his blond hair blowing freely in the breeze. He was four and at the beach, up on his father's shoulders, being taken out into the deep waters he would never have reached alone. He was five and it was Christmas. He was trying to force a mince pie into his father's mouth and Lucius hated mince pies, but he kept laughing and Draco had been able to push it in….

"NONONONONONONONONO." He was screaming it as Lucius's hands fell slackly at the sides of the chair and then Lucius' eyes blinked, blinked again and started to glaze.

Draco stood up trying desperately to get to his Father, all the while knowing it was too late. His fingernails bit into the tender meat of his palms, drawing blood and Snape pulled him back; wrapping long black clad arms around him and turned his face from the sight. Draco began to cry into the curve of Snape's shoulder, as long and loud as a child lost in the dark. Lucius was still and gone, _'the bringer of light'_ had been extinguished and Snape was pulling Draco away, out of the room, and away from the gossiping, blood crazed and leering crowd. It was, as Dumbledore would later recall, Snape's first act of genuine kindness and support in years.


	2. The Deal

_**Disclaimer:**_ _The Harry Potter universe (inclusive of Hogwarts School, all recognizable characters mentioned all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fan fiction and is considered by the author to be a respectful parody of Ms. Rowling's work while acknowledging its derivative status. No commercial use of this work is intended nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on._

 _This story was created by Azrael Geffen I am simply posting it on fanfiction because it is impossible to find and after a few years im always googling 'whats the story where the golden trio make a contract to lose their virginity and roses appear when they have sex' and it takes me forever to find then my google history looks at me like... anyways, this is to ensure I do not lose it again and to share it will all the others on this site_. _Please enjoy it as I have over the years._

 **Chapter 1**

 **THE DEAL**

It was a stupid deal and they all knew it. Well, maybe not Ron, but in retrospect it was Ron who had thought the whole thing up. Hermione could not be completely excused from the stupidity because she had been the idiot who had come up with the idea of writing out a magic contract for them to sign and she had even managed to install a hex if they didn't do what they said they would. Harry, who up until this point had given no real input, proved his own idiocy by signing the damned thing.

They blamed the demon drink of course. What else could have made three perfectly sane people, heroes of the Wizarding World, do something so utterly stupid as create and sign that particular contract. They had been drunk on a combination of various spirits pilfered from Uncle Vernon's cabinet on the day that Harry had told his hated relations exactly what he had thought of them. Harry had then set out for London to the house he had legally inherited from his godfather, Sirius Black. Now that the War was over and the Order was no longer using it, Harry could move in, and he planned to do so quickly. He had turned eighteen, he could drink in as many pubs as he chose to frequent and he most certainly planned to do just that. So all three, drunk on who knows what had begun to wax lyrical about the fact that they had spent so very long fighting the forces of evil that they hadn't really had the kind of adolescence that most Witches and Wizards had enjoyed. It had seemed that Ron's one great regret was that he had remained a virgin throughout his seven years of Hogwarts. It was a situation he personally planned to rectify as soon as was humanly possible.

Then came the kernel of an _'idea',_ and from that idea a hasty deal which naturally led neatly to the resultant Contract.

"Why don't we make a deal," Ron started, "that we all have to lose our virginity this year?"

They hadn't argued, as it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but then they had steadily become drunker and Hermione's _'bright'_ idea for the contract had come into play.

In the cold light of day, when regrets and hangovers were plentiful, they had all desperately tried to destroy the contract, but to no avail, it simply wrote in a new clause every time they tried.

"I have to admit, 'Mione, you know how to write a contract," Ron had said impressed.

"I can see that!" she snapped, "but it means that we have to abide by the terms of the contract."

Her head was aching and she felt the need to vomit. She really didn't need this right now.

"And what happens if we don't?" Harry had asked. He didn't want to ask, too afraid of the answer, but he knew he had too.

"We'll, according to what we decided on, we will be disfigured by boils for the remainder of our natural lives," Hermione stated bluntly.

"Disfigured?"

"Yes, by boils."

"Oh."

Ron had frowned, thought about it and finally said, "Well, hey, it isn't as though abiding by the terms of the contract is going to be such a bad thing."

Hermione glared at him and then stormed off to the bathroom to throw up.

The Deal was simple. They had one school year in which to lose their respective virginities. As part of a seventh year that had been interrupted by the war, they had not sat their NEWTS and had not officially 'left' Hogwarts. The entire year had been invited back to do it all over again. Thirty-three had accepted, and the trio was amongst that number. So they had one school year. The clauses, added as punishment for trying to destroy the contract were as follows; they were not allowed to do it with each other, they were not allowed to pay for sex and finally, they had to be true to their own sexuality. Beside each of their names on the contract was a small painted rose bush with no flowers. As each completed the set task, a full blown rose would appear.

*

Harry downed the potion that Hermione had made in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and curled into a ball on his bed, waiting for it to take effect and soothe the pounding in his head. Regardless of when the hangover dissipated, Harry had the urge to stay in this position forever. He wondered if that was at all possible. Maybe Dumbledore would allow Dobby to come and look after him and he could just stay here, curled in a ball, forever and ever…covered entirely in boils. He sighed as the shreds of the hangover were starting to fall away from him and his brain began to clear. _'Snape should be proud'_ , he thought with some amusement, as he had produced one hell of a potion maker in Hermione Granger. Now if only she was as brilliant at reversing irreversible contracts that she had made whilst drunk. Boils! What on earth had made them come up with boils?

If Harry was honest with himself he would have to say that the very idea of losing his virginity scared him half to death. It wasn't that he didn't want to do it; of course he did, he was only human after all and he was eighteen years old. He should be rolling around with anyone who crossed his path. His problem was in the third clause. Sexuality. That was a problem, mostly because Harry wasn't entirely sure exactly what his sexuality was. No, that wasn't entirely true. He had a terrible sneaking suspicion…no; it wasn't even that, it was an awful creeping certainty that he been blocking for two and a half years, all the while using the war as an excuse not to think about it. The fact was that he had a line up of Witches leading all the way to Surrey who would have given their right arm for the privilege of being his first and he had absolutely no interest in any of them.

He had been kissed all of three times in his life. The first had been Cho Chang in fifth year and the best he could describe that as was… wet….and a complete disaster to boot. Then in sixth year, Parvati Partil had scared the hell out of him one night when she had grabbed him after Quidditch practice and literally stuck her tongue down his throat and that was kind of suffocating and, well...wet. Finally, and possibly the most heart breaking as well, he had tried to get together with Ginny and it almost destroyed his friendship with Ron and the entire Weasley clan. He had tried, he really had, but then he realized he was only doing it because he had been expected to and in all honesty, he just didn't want to be with her. So their kiss, when it had come, had been totally passionless and mechanical and she had noticed it straight away. _'Who knows, maybe I'm just not a good kisser?'_ he thought pointlessly.

He blamed Draco Malfoy for all his problems in this regard. Well, to be fair, not the whole of Malfoy as such, it would be far more accurate to say it was Malfoy's stomach. It had been the first Quidditch game of sixth year and it had been pissing down with rain. Voldemort was back and the war had begun in earnest and most of the Slytherin team had family or friends who were Death Eaters, although Lucius Malfoy was still in Azkaban (he would escape with his cronies later that month). The Slytherin team were out for blood and the Gryffindor team were still trying to accommodate the fact that they were full of new and inexperienced players. It was turning into a bloody, dirty and nasty game. Players from both sides were dropping like flies. Harry and Draco had seen the Snitch at the same moment and had gone for it, bumping each other in the frenzied chase, whilst the occasional fist made contact with an arm, hip, jaw, or anything Harry or Draco could lash out at. Then, just as they had started a plunge towards the ground after the tiny golden ball, the stands of their brooms hooked around each other and they lost all control, plummeting to the ground and landing in a wet heap on the pitch. Harry had sat up and looked down at his enemy lying beside him. His robes were open, jumper runched up and a pale expanse of flat stomach was exposed to the pouring rain. Harry had stared as though in a trance at the delicious view that started at the bottom of Malfoy's ribs to the low slung band of his trousers. His stomach was toned with lean muscle, and there was a light dusting of hair that trailed from his navel down under his waistband. He watched as the stomach contracted with every breath Malfoy took and suddenly, he had become inextricably aroused, getting the first hard on he'd had for another person in as long as he could remember.

"How bad can a lifetime covered in boils be?" He shuddered, and thought it would probably be pretty bad.

*

"You could be very pretty dear," said the mirror cheerfully, "if you just made a bit of an effort."

"Oh Shut UP!" Mental note to self, get a Muggle mirror. Make an effort indeed. Did the stupid bloody mirror have any idea at all of just how much effort she needed to make to look passable? At the Yule Ball in her fourth year, Hermione had turned heads and caused many to admire, but it had taken many hours of concentrated effort to achieve that little feat, not to mention an astounding array of products from Hogsmeade. There was no way she could do that on a daily basis, and there was no way she wanted to be a slave to _'fashion'._ She contented herself with plaiting her bushy brown curls each day so that she didn't resemble a not so cute woodland creature. That was her only concession to daily vanity. Hermione was not and never would be, a ravishing beauty. She was pretty enough, with a face unmarred by any real blemishes, a turned up nose, nice mouth, tolerable teeth and chocolate eyes. She knew she was a plain girl, and she felt no desire to smother her face in make-up or wear butterflies or flowers in her hair. Each day her routine was the same, wash face, plait hair, get dressed, and leave. She had no plans to change that. Hermione was practical. She was far more interested in books and the acquisition of knowledge than her looks…or the pursuit of men.

The pursuit of men. Now what was she going to do about that? She had never really cared overly about the whole _'losing her virginity'_ thing, so why had she agreed to this stupidity? It was simply not in her nature to lie on her back and let some guy have sex with her. Hermione had hoped to fall in love before actually having sex, but now she had to find a mate, and fast. She would at least have to get to know him, even if it was only a little. One night stands were certainly not her thing. But who? She knew almost every boy at Hogwarts and none…absolutely none of them interested her in the slightest. She needed a man who had a similar mind to her, a man who valued knowledge and technical perfection above all else. Looks were not important, the pursuit of knowledge was.

"Oh come on," she admonished angrily to herself, "you're looking for a one night stand so that you don't end up covered from head to toe in boils." Boils! Bloody boils of all things, and for the rest of their lives! They must have been very drunk to come up with that.  
Could she do the one night stand thing? She highly doubted it. Her saving grace was that, at eighteen Hermione would be able to come and go from Hogwarts with greater freedom and maybe, if she was lucky, she might meet someone in Hogsmeade.

*

Ron had no reservations in the slightest about the Deal they had written up. In fact, he thought it was a great idea. One of the greatest tragedies, in his eyes at least, was that every other student in their year seemed to have been shagging like bunnies and Harry, Hermione and himself hadn't. They were heroes for Merlin's sake; they should have been getting plenty of action. Ron's original plan had been to simply rectify it quietly over the next twelve months. The Deal just gave him the added incentive to do what he had wanted to do in the first place.

Ron saw himself in a good position. At eighteen he was tall and had fortunately filled out a lot, which made him more imposing than gangly. He had a good face, looking more like Bill than Percy and his mop of red hair had been cut fashionably on the insistence of his twin brothers who now fancied themselves to be the trend setters of the Wizarding world. The look suited Ron, who had always been in danger of being seen as nothing more than Harry's second, and it seemed he had a friend in fashion. Harry, who was almost a full head shorter than his friend, did not have the tall leanness to carry off the modern fashions that seemed to be stocked in all of the best stores. Ron quite simply did. He had a decent set of cheek bones, clear blue eyes and a rather long nose that looked just fine on his face. He was looking good, with the childhood awkwardness a thing of the past, and he knew it.

More importantly, Ron had no qualms about who he lost his virginity to, just so long as he did. He was in a good position. He was likable, good looking, old enough to drink in pubs and he was one of the heroes of the Wizarding World. As far as he could see, this year was going to be great.


	3. Back to School

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (inclusive of Hogwarts School, all recognizable characters mentioned all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fan fiction and is considered by the author to be a respectful parody of Ms. Rowling's work while acknowledging its derivative status. No commercial use of this work is intended nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on._

 **Chapter 2**

 **Back to School… Again!**

Draco Malfoy had spent his summer drinking his way through every bar in Diagon Alley. He had not been allowed to return to the Manor, as the Ministry in its _'wisdom'_ had decided it would be in their best interests to go over it with a fine-toothed comb and it would not be available for occupancy for another four months or so. He had made enquiries regarding the retrieval of his parents from Azkaban and had been appalled to discover that the Ministry had decided to put all of the Death Eaters given the Kiss on display as a deterrent to others. They would be dragged on a Grand Tour of the United Kingdom and Europe and would not be available for another eight months. After such time, Draco could take them home. To add insult to injury, he had been required to pay for the shapeless white shifts that they would be required to wear. He had delivered a pile of nightshirts to the Museum, but the young apprentice, one Piers Tampling, who received the clothes could not guarantee that Draco's parents would actually be clothed in them. Apparently it might insult some poor Witch or Wizard who couldn't afford such finery. Draco had snorted in derision and stormed out.

Thus the concerted drinking had begun.

Draco had taken a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He could have stayed in one of the finer establishments, but the Leaky Cauldron had no problems with him drinking until dawn and occasionally passing out in a corner. In fact, when this happened, some unfortunate House Elf was usually tasked with transporting him to bed and leaving a hangover potion on his night table. It was the little things that made all the difference. He spent his days and nights in a drunken haze, usually starting out in some sophisticated little bar and ending up at the Cauldron, close to his bed and the pubs own home brew, which would burn the gullet of a lesser Wizard than himself.

As it happened, he was seated on his usual stool at the bar when the Dream Team arrived, accompanied by their usual hangers on; the Kings of Fashion (also known as Fred and George Weasley) and followed by much gasping and applause. Several on-lookers rushed to the bar to buy them drinks, almost upsetting Draco from his roost and causing him to lift his head from the coolness of the marble bar top to see what all the commotion was about.

Oh great, just what I need, Saint Bloody Potter, Mudblood Granger and umpteen fucking Weasels. He returned his head to the soothing marble and prayed they wouldn't notice him.

It was a vain hope.

"Have you actually been to bed, Malfoy, or has your arse taken root on that stool?"

He really didn't want to lift his head again. The marble was unbelievably cool and comfortable, so he contented himself with snarling, "Fuck off Weasley" without actually moving at all.

Fred turned to all assembled and declared in as loud a voice as he could dare; "You see before you the great, Draco Malfoy, last of the Malfoy line and Diagon Alley's resident drunk."

With no small amount of regret Draco lifted his head from the bar and turned towards Fred with his face in a well-practiced sneer. Of course, if he looked at one of them, he couldn't help but see the rest of them. Potter and Granger had looks that sickeningly resembled pity plastered all over their faces, whilst all three Weasels simply looked smug and self-righteous. He almost groaned aloud. Draco was well aware of what he looked like, with his hair, grown longer now, disheveled and dirty. To add to the insult, he had four days worth of stubble on his face. He stank of whiskey, pot and sweat, and he hadn't had a bath for almost a week. Not really how he wanted to appear when he first saw his arch nemesis and his faithful flock.

The last time he had seen the twin 'weasels' was at a nightclub where they had been dancing wildly with no one in particular and generally embarrassing themselves. He had left before they had seen him, not particularly wanting to let the worlds worst dancers make him the butt of their jokes for all to see. It was a bit late for that now. He had the greatest urge to throw up and all he really wanted to do was put his head back down again and go to sleep.

"Fairly obvious that old Malfoy here has gone soft in the head," Fred crowed triumphantly, "can't even think up a good come back. So what is it Malfoy, gone soft in the head?"

"Right Weasley. We all know you're soft because we've all seen you dancing like you've got a hex up your arse."

"And we all know your hard because we've all seen you drinking from noon until noon again, " Fred replied easily.

He really didn't need this. Perhaps if he ignored them they would just go away. He turned slowly and with a soft groan he rested his forehead blessedly back onto the bar. The Weasels burst into spontaneous applause and laughed long and loud, but, thank the Gods, the noise was moving away from him and they were finally leaving him alone. He let out a sigh of relief. He felt like Hell. He really needed to go and get some sleep…or something.

"I heard that you were going back to Hogwarts this year."

He rolled his head in the direction of the voice and was confronted with Granger.

"That's right." He said sharply, willing her to just fuck off.

"Are you Apparating to Hogsmeade and walking from there?"

"That's the plan."

She pursed her lips disapprovingly at him, "you should get yourself cleaned up first. You stink and you really need a bath."

Who did she think she was, his Mother? "Why? You want to join me Granger?" he sneered. "Well sorry luv, but I'm not into taking mud baths."

She flushed, blinked and her lips curled into a fairly good rendering of his own sneer, "Fine, Malfoy. That's the last time I try to do you a favor, Ferret."

"Good, I'd hate to think I owed you one," Draco drawled and looked over her shoulder as ever faithful, lover boy Weasley came running over, wand at the ready to save his Mudblood damsel in distress. Draco fumbled with his own wand and fell, very ungraciously, off the stool.

There was an eruption of derisive laughter but by that point Draco didn't care as he blissfully threw up in a great gushing stream, all over the Weasel's new shoes.

***

"Damned shame about Malfoy," George was saying some time later as they wound their way to number ninety-three Diagon Alley and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, "he used to be fun when he could give a good insult."

"I don't see the shame," Ron muttered sulkily. He had been forced to smother his shoes in essence of Petunia, the only scent Hermione had on her, in order to tame the stench of Malfoy's vomit. "If he drinks himself to death that's the end of 'em. Imagine it, a world without Malfoy's." He smiled almost dreamily. Then something else came into his thoughts, "hang on, what were you speaking to that git for, Mione?"

"I wanted to find out if he was going back to Hogwarts this year," she replied a little defensively.

"Who cares if he does?" his eyes suddenly widened, "Oh Gods, Hermione, you don't mean to say that you want to try it on with Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course not!"

"Cause if you are, let me tell you now, you can do a hell of a lot better than that piece of shit!"

"Ron!" she cried, "No, I am not planning on doing anything with Draco Malfoy. I felt bad for him, I mean, look at him!"

"Yeah, I saw him," Ron snorted. "It's no more than he deserves. The guy is a class one prat. He's an evil nasty little wanker and probably up to his eyeballs in dark magic."

"His parents were the Death Eaters, not him," Harry interrupted swiftly.

Ron turned to Harry, not believing what he was hearing, "if he got the chance, Harry, he would have been one. He was probably just aching to join up, probably pissed that the war ended before he got his chance!"

They filed into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and ambled through to the back living quarters to make some tea while Fred and George opened up shop.

"Susan Bones said her aunt was there the day his parents were given the Kiss," said Hermione, "and apparently it was really awful. She said Draco cried like his world was ending in front of his eyes."

"Oh be still my bleeding heart, so he cried like a baby. Nothing like a bit of sympathy to get the girls in; there's your living proof!"

Hermione threw her hands in the air in frustration, "Oh Honestly, Ron, I am not interested in doing anything with Draco Malfoy. He's cute and all, but I am well aware that he is a git from hell and I…"

"YOU THINK HE'S CUTE?"

Oh dear.

"I…I… well, yes, but everyone thinks that."

"EVERYONE THINKS MALFOY IS CUTE?"

"Oh yes," George grinned as he came out the back, "Angelina assures me that Malfoy got hot some time in his sixth year. Before that he was cute, after that he became sexy. Isn't that right 'Mione?"

She was nodding, grinning mischievously, "yeah, it's true. I'd say he fueled many a girls' naughty dream."

 _"YOURS?"_

"Ron, stop yelling."

"HARRY, DO YOU BELIEVE THIS?"

Harry shrugged, trying desperately to look nonchalant. The sight of a dirty and disheveled Draco had stirred him in a way he really didn't want to be stirred in just at the moment. "I guess you could say he was handsome," he conceded.

"Oh my Gods, the whole lot of you is completely fucking insane!"

Hermione and George burst into fits of laughter and after a moment Harry forced himself to join them. Ron, hopelessly outnumbered, slumped into a chair and rolled his eyes heaven wards.

Three days later, luggage in tow, they Apparated to Hogsmeade village and were greeted by a number of carriages pulled by Thestrals. They were all a little saddened by the fact that they could all see them, but now wasn't the time for regrets. They heaved their trunks into their carriage and were soon joined by Neville, Seamus and Lavender, the only other Gryffindors to come back to repeat the year. They chatted mostly about the summer, avoiding the topic of the war. Instead they settled for being pleased to see each other alive, whole and feeling, and for the first time in a long time, wise enough to sense the easy freedom that came with peace.

The eighth years arrived well before the train and wandered down familiar corridors to the Great Hall, glorying in the sight of something that had come so close to complete destruction only months before. It was nearly empty, except for the thirty-three students and the teachers at the High Table. They had instinctively sat at their old house tables. Six Gryffindors, six Hufflepuffs, twenty Ravenclaws and one lone Slytherin. Malfoy had cleaned himself up and wore plain black school robes, as they all did. They had been asked not to wear any symbols of their former houses.

Dumbledore looked older than before; all of the teachers did. As though they had all lived to see far too much happen. The elderly Wizard's eyes still twinkled behind the familiar half moon glasses, however, and at that moment he was looking at them all with an extreme sense of pride. Professor McGonagall was smiling in a distant, sad sort of way. She was walking with a stick permanently now. The trio knew this because they had seen her over the summer when she had paid one final visit to 12 Grimmauld Place. Snape looked just plain haggard and pale. Hermione noticed that he was lacking his usual smirk or sneer. He, like McGonagall, looked distant. They tried not to focus on the fact that Hagrid was missing. He would never take his place at that table again, and he had been buried in the forest where his beloved creatures could watch over him.

Dumbledore stood, cleared his throat and smiled gently at the assembled eight year students in front of him. "I will not say, 'welcome children' because you are no longer children. You are now adults. Some of you have seen more than many would hope to see in a lifetime; you are all survivors of a terrible time. You no longer need to be guided as children do. You are a very special year and so, we have decided to make some very special rules for you. Firstly, you will no longer be recognized by your houses. You will exist beyond those boundaries. As such, you will take your place at the table you see at the front of the room." He paused, and a table magically appeared just below the teacher's table.

He watched as his students digested this information. They had spent seven years identifying with their houses, being defined and molded by them. Suddenly they did not have that internal support, and it would be a burden to many of them, but of little consequence to others.  
"Secondly, as adults you will be allowed to come and go as you please. You may imbibe alcohol if you wish to, but we do ask that you not pass it on to any other member of the student body. You may go out at night and do all of the things that young adult Witches and Wizards do, however," he smiled over those half moon glasses, "we all expect you to excel at your lessons. We also expect that your homework and other studies will be completed on time, that you attend your classes and that you remain courteous to all members of the faculty at all times. You must remember that you can still be given detention and you can still be expelled."

Hermione, ever reliable to ask the question every one was thinking, raised her hand, "Professor Dumbledore, Sir, if we no longer belong to houses, does that mean we can't earn or lose points?"

"That is correct my dear."

All eyes shot gleeful looks in Snape's direction and he scowled in return.

"It also means that you will be unable to partake in the house Quidditch competition."

 _NO QUIDDITCH!_

Harry's mouth was hanging open, as were most of the students. Only Hermione seemed to take that news well.

"Can we have access to the Restricted Section of the Library," she was asking cheerfully and Dumbledore was telling her that indeed they could, but no one else heard a thing. There was to be no Quidditch and that really was the end of everything. Dumbledore may as well have said that Voldemort had returned bigger and better than ever because nothing was going to make up for that blow.

"Finally, as you no longer belong to any of the school houses, it is fitting that you be afforded a separate tower of your own. I have had the South West tower refurbished and you will find a Common Room there and semi private chambers. You have been given accommodation in pairs."

"Who's the poor sap who has to share with Malfoy?" Ron hissed and Harry snorted in spite of himself.

"Now, if you please, the train has arrived at Hogsmeade station and the remainder of the student body will be here shortly. I ask that you take your places at your new table and await your classmates."

They did so, crowding onto the smaller table and feeling immensely happy when several bottles of wine and goblets appeared before them. Draco started drinking almost immediately, but it didn't take long for the others to follow. By the time their classmates arrived they were feeling the first tendrils of a pleasant haze of drunkenness creeping over them.

After the Sorting and the feast they were shown to the South West tower and a pleasant wood paneled circular Common Room with various doors hidden in the panels. Each of these panels had a pair of names on a small brass plate and once the door was pressed, it sprang open to reveal spacious bed chambers with two four poster beds, a fireplace and dressers. Harry and Ron were paired together, as were Hermione and Lavender, Neville and Seamus. No poor sap had to share with Malfoy. He had his own chamber that was accessed via a long narrow corridor and, although smaller than everyone else's, it had its own balcony. Draco was pleased with the arrangement, and he would later find that he could stand out on the balcony and look down at the dizzying drop to the ragged rocks some five hundred meters below. It was a fabulous discovery when you were completely drunk and aching to throw up.

The contract was hung on the wall of Harry and Ron's room, along with a calendar that counted down the number of days they had left to ensure they lost whatever innocence they had left.


	4. Prelude to a Kiss

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (inclusive of Hogwarts School, all recognizable characters mentioned all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fan fiction and is considered by the author to be a respectful parody of Ms. Rowling's work while acknowledging its derivative status. No commercial use of this work is intended nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on._

 **Chapter 3**

 **Prelude to a Kiss**

The first lesson that Harry, Ron and Hermione had attended together had been Defense Against the Dark Arts and, after much speculation as to the identity of the new teacher, they were met with Professor Sabine Delancet, an attractive witch in her late twenties who, Harry thought sadly, would have been brilliant to have around a year ago. Her specialties were Dueling and Dark Magic Detection. Classes in Dueling were to be practical affairs, with students to choose a dueling partner for the year to work with in class and practice with as part of study.

"Dueling," Professor Delancet said at her first practical class, "was once considered the last bastion of polished society. Any hot and tot can brawl, but the well bred Wizard or Witch duel." She smiled devilishly, "which is why you find that most pure bloods are very good at it."

Draco folded his arms and smirked.

"Of course, many pure bloods aren't above brawling."

"That's true," Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth, the war was testament to that.  
"And many half bloods and Muggle Borns are excellent duelists"

Hermione shot a look at Malfoy and grinned in satisfaction. He sneered and resisted the urge of poking his tongue out at her.

"So, my aim is to teach you to duel in the traditional sense, as a sport more than as combat, but of course, when and if the need arises, what you have learned will hold you in good stead. Now, have any of you seen a Wizard fight with a staff?"

A collective gasp rippled through the class. Staves were heavy objects, huge and long and powerful. Once upon a time a pure blood would have called the things 'Barbaric' but, as many of them had seen, the Death Eaters, pure bloods all, were excellent wielders of staves. A few students raised their hands in answer to her question and Professor Delancet was nodding.

"Good." she disappeared behind her desk for a moment and when she re-appeared she was holding a great long Staff. It was black and carved with ornate letters, at one end was a large crystal ball; the other was a pointed crystal conductor. "The benefit of the staff is that you can cast from both ends, it takes a great deal of mind control to do so which is why only masters can use them in actual combat."

"So that's what your Dad was, Malfoy, not a Barbarian at all eh?"

Draco shot a withering look at Ron who was grinning back at him.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley, but if you could keep your remarks about people not connected with this class room to a minimum, I would be most grateful."

"Yes Professor."

"Now, I am showing you the staff because later in the year I plan to have the students who prove most proficient at dueling, learn how to use them."

"That's so cool!"

"I'm glad you think so Mr. Finnegan." She put the staff down and returned to the centre of the room. "If you can all choose a partner please, and I ask you, please try to choose someone other than your best friend, it makes the sport oh so much more interesting."

"Bugger that!" Ginny giggled and grabbed Hermione before Ron could, Ron then turned to Harry who shrugged and was about to move towards him when Colin Creevy stepped in and claimed the red head.

"Please Ron, come on," Colin was saying, "she said try not to choose your best friend."

"Harry?"

"It's ok, Ron, I'm sure I'll find someone who'll want to partner me." Harry was actually a little miffed that Colin hadn't chosen him. It seemed he was a good photographic subject, but not a suitable dueling partner.

He soon discovered that most people thought that way. They loved Harry, they all did - with exception of most of the Slytherin house who were essentially terrified of him - but Harry was legend at Hogwarts and beyond. He had defeated Voldemort. He was an excellent fighter. Who the hell would want to be beaten by him over and over again? They could get hurt!

"Looks like it's you and me, Potty," came an unwelcome and familiar drawl.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me."

"Think of it this way. No one wants to fight the Savior of the Wizarding World and no one wants to fight the son of a Death Eater, so it looks like we'll have to fight each other."

"I think Professor Delancet said the word was _"Dueling"_ , not fighting. It's supposed to be a sport, Malfoy."

"Fighting, Dueling, same thing." Draco shrugged lazily. "Either way I get to kick your ass around the corridors for a year - and that'll make me happy."

"Oh? And what makes you think you can manage it if your Daddy and his Master couldn't?"

Draco, refusing to be goaded, sneered, and replied with a voice dipped in saccharine sweetness; "because the good Professor there is going to teach me how. What's wrong? Scared Potter?"

Harry smiled openly at the challenge. "Oh, Malfoy, you wish."

And so it looked like they were dueling partners for the next year.

**********

Potions began as it had every year since Harry had come to Hogwarts. Hermione hoped that Snape would be different now that the War was over and Snape, never failing to disappoint her, was as cruel and as evil as ever.

"As I see that most of you did not manage to get yourself killed over the summer break, I suppose I should make some kind of attempt at welcoming you all back," he started silkily, "and I see that the Gods have seen fit to send me Mr. Potter for yet another year, how wonderful for us all to be graced with the presence of such celebrity as this, I don't know how I shall contain myself."

Harry sank down into his chair and almost groaned.

"Just ignore him. You know he does this every year."

"Was that whispering, Miss Granger? How unlike you, conspiring with your little companion in my class. It is a shame I can't take house points from you, or perhaps I should just punish Gryffindor anyway."

"I'm sorry, Professor, it won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't"

To Hermione's relief he did take any points. She looked at Harry who rolled his eyes in return. Another year of Potions had begun and despite all alliances during the war, Snape was his usual self. She couldn't help but feel disappointed, she'd hoped he might have softened – if only a little.

Snape prowled around to sit behind his desk and glared down at his suitably cowed students before starting the lesson. "Alchemy is one of the three pillars of the Hermetic Sciences, the other two being?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air and he ignored her.

"Wand Craft and Astrology" Draco answered smugly.

"Correct. Alchemy is essentially the art of?"

Hermione's hand, still half in the air, shot back up and Snape smirked, looked in her direction and said;

" _Mr. Potter_ , Alchemy is the art of?"

"I don't know, Professor."

"Really, that is a pity, what are you here for if you don't know what you are studying?"

Harry flushed.

"Alchemy is the art of, and please try to remember this before returning to my class Mr. Potter, Potion Making. As you have all elected to be here I would hope to assume that by the time this year is complete you will be mildly competent Alchemists. You will find that too many of our kind rely on Alchemists to prepare potions for them and few realize how crucial it is to the craft to be able to practice the work themselves. As it is your first week you are going to be producing Planetary Fluid Condensers, Liquid Universal Fluid Condensers, Solid Fluid Condensers and Elemental Fluid Condensers. These base condensers will be the working base of every potion you produce this year, if you make them incorrectly now, your base for all work performed this year will be flawed and you will fail this class. Instructions are on the board." He waved his wand and they appeared. "You may begin. You have until the end of the week to have all conductors completed, bottled and labeled."

Harry turned to Hermione and managed to look lost, helpless and confused all at once. Hermione knew what was coming, and although she hoped she was wrong, she knew she wasn't.

"Hermione, what in hell is a Fluid Condenser?"

"They are the base element of all Alchemical potions." she whispered in reply.

"That's nice. What is an Alchemical potion?"

Hermione looked at Harry and wondered if it was some how Neville polyjuiced into Harry's form. "Haven't you read the text book yet?"

Harry looked thoroughly exasperated. He picked up his book and waved it at her, opening to page after page in demonstration. "'Mione, in case you haven't noticed, there are no words!"

The book was a beautiful heavy bound thing and Hermione had fallen in love with it when she had first purchased her copy at Flourish and Blotts. The pages were made of metal and each one featured an intricate engraving.

"The Mutus Liber is an ancient text, Harry. Each of the engravings represents a sequence of the Alchemical process performed by a man and woman. This is very High Magic Harry, we're lucky to be learning it."

Harry looked at her dubiously and then cast his eye around the class. Noticing that everyone had set about making their fluid condensers. Everyone except Hermione and himself. He reminded himself once again why he had chosen the class. He had never felt more out of depth in his life. He simply didn't have Hermione's brain, nor her love of all things complex. In advance Potions, Hermione was in her element; Harry was simply a drowning man clinging to a piece of drift wood.

"Problems Mr. Potter?" Snape's silky voice sounded from the front of the room.

"No Professor," Harry replied evenly.

"Then I suggest you start working and stop distracting you partner. I would hate to see Miss Granger actually fail my class because she couldn't concentrate."

Harry snorted. Like that would ever happen.

"You find something amusing in the idea of your classmate failing, Mr. Potter?" Snape purred, "How predictably selfish of you."

"No Sir, I…no Sir," Harry finished lamely.

Snape smirked, picked up his quill and returned to his work.

************

Three months of school had passed in a whirl wind of lessons and homework. They had been integrated into the existing seventh year for classes, which made for bigger classes, but they got a sense that they were back in their beloved houses just from sitting with people emblazoned in house colors.

The seventh years, however, looked on enviously as their eighth year companions reveled in the amazing sense of freedom that saw them heading to Hogsmeade most nights of the week to sit in the Three Broomsticks and talk and laugh and drink enough to forget that they were in fact still at school due to a war that had killed more of their friends than they dared to contemplate. This practice was starting to calm down however, as they quickly realized that drinking and actually completing assignments and studying were not things that often went together. Hogsmeade nights were now becoming things of Friday and Saturdays, when they had mornings to lay in bed and sleep off the hangovers that blissfully took away the need to think about who they were and what they had seen. Study could be done in the afternoons and by the evening the process could be repeated all over again.

Hermione, who rejected traipsing down into the village more often than not, found it difficult to comprehend how it was possible that Harry and Ron had forgotten just how fast homework could accumulate at this level of Hogwarts. Ron was sweating over his divination homework, lamenting (for yet another year) that he had taken the class through lack of anything else to take. Hermione, who thought the subject complete twaddle anyway, refused to help and Harry had been so glad the day he had left Divination behind forever that he had let anything he may have learned run out of his head like water through a sieve.

Harry was having troubles of his own. He had managed, with much help from Hermione, to create all of his Fluid Condensers and he had found, through the Restricted Section of the library, a book named Primus Materia which step by step deciphered the engravings in Mutus Liber, so he at least understood what Snape was going on about. But he knew that his potion making skills left a lot to be desired. He spent much of his time potions study time listening to Hermione wax lyrical about the joys of high magic, a practice she had taken to like a duck to water. That no teacher other than Snape had decided to teach it irked her more and more as her interest progressed. She had even voiced a desire to ask Snape to teach her privately, something which had sent a shudder through her friends.

The boys had never been particularly good at organizing their time well when it came to study and homework. For each of their classes they had been told to try and study for "an hour or so" each night, plus complete homework. Which meant that they needed around 15 hours a night to complete everything. Clearly, there was not enough time in the day.

"I'm going to ask McGonagall for a Time Turner" Ron declared on a number of occasions before Hermione, sick of hearing it, had written up a home work / study time table for them to adhere to. She stuck it on the wall next to the contract and told them to make a bold attempt to work with it. They pointedly ignored it until they were snowed under with work, where upon they complained that the time table didn't work.

They all had dueling practice every night and that was an ordeal in itself. Malfoy, as it turned out, was a brilliant duelist. Then again, he had been taught by a master. Harry had fought Lucius Malfoy on a number of occasions and he recognized the style. There was, as Harry soon learned, a real difference between being in a high stress battle situation and actually dueling in the old style way and Malfoy knew moves that Harry hadn't even considered. He ended most nights with his body aching all over and feeling as though the wind had been well and truly knocked out of him. It was exhilarating though. There was something about the thrill of the duel that was addictive, and watching Malfoy leap into the air, or literally bend in half backwards to avoid a curse (and he was remarkably good at avoiding curses) was certainly a sight to behold.

**************

With the year flying by, it was Halloween before they actually managed to discuss the contract, and even then it was only because Ron had started to panic. The year was slipping past them and he decided that it was time to take his friends to task.

"Nothing!" He admonished. "We have done nothing!" He was holding court in the bed chamber he shared with Harry and he kept jabbing at the contract for effect. "It's been months and nothing!"

"Well," Hermione hissed in reply, "in case you hadn't noticed, Ron, we have been busy!"

"Yeah? Well, you tell me that when school ends and your sitting there covered in festering bubbles of pus!"

Eew!

He turned to Harry, "I can understand her!" He gestured to Hermione who looked offended. "Girls have this stupid thing about having to fall in love and all that, but just about every girl in the school would do anything to have a go with you, Harry, you're a red blooded male, why haven't you done anything thing?"

"Well…I…"

"Do you have your eye on someone?"

He felt a blush start and he suppressed it as best he could "Um, No, Ron, I don't"

"I thought I saw Padma looking at you the other day?"

"I really didn't notice Ron. Besides, I might have had something stuck to my face."

"What are you?" Ron cried, "An infant? What would you have had stuck to your face?"

"Nothing, it was a hypothetical something."

Ron began to pace the room, throwing desperate looks at the contract with its horribly naked rose bushes. "What about you?" he demanded of Hermione.

"No Ron, sorry." She bit her lip, "Hang on, your really hoeing into us, what about you? I don't see your rose bush alight with flowers!"

"I was trying to convince Lavender" he said quickly, "but she wasn't really up for it."

"Well considering she is seeing Ernie Macmillan, I am hardly surprised."

"He's not here," Ron snapped, "besides, what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Hermione started to laugh. "You really are immoral Ron."

"I just want to get this over with," he said indignantly, but he was starting to laugh as well.

"Yeah, you are really desperate to get this over with, and the sex? That's a happy part of the outcome?"

Ron was openly laughing now, "Of course!" Suddenly, his eyes widened and he smacked himself soundly in the forehead, "OF COURSE!" he cried, "I just had the best idea!"

"Careful Ron, the last time you had "the best idea" we ended up in this mess," Harry said.

"Yeah, yeah, but this really is a good one."

"Ok, what is it?" Harry asked, deciding that they could at least indulge him, although his ideas hadn't been that great up to this point.

"Truth or Dare!"

"Truth" said Hermione.

"Dare" said Harry.

"No! I'm not asking _you,_ we should play the game."

"I thought were just did."

"Oh good grief Harry, did you lose a brain cell in dueling practice today? We should play Truth or Dare with the others."

"What?" Harry looked a little panicked. "Are we going to dare someone to sleep with us?"

"That's a great idea!"

"Ron, be serious."

"Ok, ok. After the feast tonight we all adjourn back to the common room. Malfoy, fucking little shit that he is, has bought all of this wine from some bloke in Hogsmeade."

"Hang on...you trust wine that Malfoy, fucking little shit that he is, bought from some bloke in the village?"

"Why wouldn't I? Malfoy drinks it and he's still alive."

"Ok, what ever, continue."

"After everyone is relaxed I will suggest a game of Truth or Dare."

Harry sighed, "I get that bit, what I don't get is why?"

"Harry, Voldemort hit you one too many times in the head with the Cruciatus curse didn't he mate?" When Harry didn't respond Ron impatiently prompted him. "What happens when some one dares you in Truth or Dare?"

Two blank faces stared back at him.

"Come on! 'Mione, please don't tell me that you have joined zombie boy here!"

Two blank faces continued to stare back at him.

He goggled at them incredulously. "You _always_ get dared to kiss someone. Always, it's like an unwritten rule of Truth or Dare. Only really ugly people don't end up getting kissed in Truth or Dare."

 _Oh._

"And kissing can lead to other, more intense things, right?"

 _Right._ They both nodded dumbly and looked remarkably uncomfortable with the idea.

"Come on guys, it's a good plan, we could end up with some nice candidates out of it."

Harry squirmed a little. Hermione appeared to be studying a crack in the plasterwork.

"Do you want to end up covered in boils?" Ron demanded.

"No."

"No."

"So just do it, will you, please?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances and turned uneasy smiles to Ron. "Sure,"  
Harry replied with as much false bravado as he could muster, "what ever you say, mate."

************

The Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities was a simple stone structure, block like and grey, that stood in the centre of London's Soho district. It was perfectly unassuming with the exception of two tall columns that reached up to a simple unadorned pediment that served as the buildings only real adornment. The exterior was an unchanging façade that had stood for several hundred years, its' interior, based on the mobius expansion architectural system, unfolded endlessly and thus the cubic capacity was infinite.

The Museum was curated by one Archibald Semeuse, who had been cataloguing a rare rock bone collection when the letter had come from the Ministry requesting that he curate the traveling Dark Magic exhibition that they had been planning since the end of the war trials. Semeuse had been the Curator of the Museum for approximately 53 years and had been thrilled with the plan. He was a collector of anything and everything that could possibly be catalogued and labeled and placed in a set.

He had begun acquiring collections of collections on a small scale, purchasing individual pieces from flea markets and antique stores and then later, as the impetus grew, he had migrated to auction houses buying any lot listed as curios. His tastes were non-specific. Having minimal interest in fashionable items like paintings or porcelain, he concentrated his efforts on objects of magical significance. His current favorite, his Rock bone collection, included various examples of proximity assimilation, a phenomenon occurring when minerals, plants and skeletal tissue combine through convergence. Magically, such items were highly prized as they could be ground down and liquefied and used in base work for universal and planetary condensers, Alchemists and Potion Masters lusted after such a collection as his, and he guarded it with a jealously that bordered on obsession.

After receiving the letter from the Ministry advising him of the plans for the exhibition he went deep into the vaults of the museum to check that every piece that he had collected with any connection at all to Dark Magic was still ordered and intact. He had long hoped to be able to display such pieces, and in an exhibition such as this he would finally get the opportunity. Then had come the news regarding the Death Eaters. He would get people. Real human specimens. Live Humans, soulless in a state of living death. His eyes had widened, he felt his heart begin to race and he had almost begun to salivate over the letter. It was as though all of his Christmases had come at once.  
Several weeks later he took delivery of fifteen long narrow boxes, each containing one of his newest prized possessions. As the House Elves had opened the boxes, he had knelt beside each one and carefully unwrapped the cotton wadding around its occupant. Of the fifteen, three had died in transit and he cursed the over-zealous fool who had wrapped them in too much wadding and no air holes. He couldn't display them if they were dead. They would deteriorate and rot. Unless of course he pumped them full of Arsenic which would preserve them admirably. But he knew he could not, he had a duty to the Ministry to report the loss.

It was the fifteenth box that contained his real prize. He had unwrapped the specimen with the same sense of dread he had after he had discovered the first dead one. He couldn't stand the very idea of a fourth dead, he needed at least twelve to make the collection work. Twelve was his lucky number; he would never display any collection that didn't have at least twelve pieces. He pulled back the cotton wadding and was overjoyed as he listened closely and heard the short intake of breath form the body. Then he had looked at it. His heart had almost skipped a beat as he stared at the glazed grey eyes staring back at him, unblinking, unseeing, but very much alive.

"Dear Merlin," he had whispered, "he's perfect"

Or at least he would be after Semeuse had cleaned him up, shaved him and washed the cascade of pale blonde hair that was almost filling the box. He ran a long finger over the smooth flesh of the mans cheek and trailed down to the tag tied around his neck.

'Lucius Malfoy. C. 1954"

 _Oh no!_

He looked over at one of the other boxes, one of the "dead" boxes. _Damn!_ If the woman had survived he would have had a matched set!

True to his word, Ron started the game of Truth or Dare after the feast when everyone was sitting around the common room fire place relaxing and contemplating classes the next day. As promised, the three of them chose Dare every time the bottle was spun and pointed to one of them. Harry, who was sure that Padma had hexed the bottle, continuously came up and had so far kissed Lavender, Padma and Susan a total of around seven times each. Ron had kissed Susan twice, recited the Astronomy table backwards and run from the top of the tower to the dungeons and back in little more than his boxers screaming "Chudley Cannons rule the day" at the top of his lungs. Hermione hadn't kissed anyone. She had pushed a peanut around the common room with her nose and sucked a spilled glass of whiskey out of the carpet, and by the time the bottle pointed to her again, she felt incredibly sick, demoralized and she just wanted to go to bed. She looked at the bottle pointing at her and then at Ron who was smiling encouragingly and finally at Draco who had spun the bottle. "Dare," she said weakly.

Draco smirked like a fiend and said, "I want you to go and throw a bucket of cold water over Professor Snape."

She couldn't have heard him right. "Pardon?" she asked confused.

"I want you to go and throw a bucket of cold water over Professor Snape," Draco repeated patiently and deliberately picked his tooth with his fingernail.

"But…I can't do that," she said, blood draining from her face, "it's after two in the morning…he'll be in bed."  
"So? I know where his chambers are, it's a simple matter to get in there."

"I…I," she stuttered, "I can't!"

"Is that a refusal?" An evil light seemed to glow in Draco's eyes.

Hermione wanted to say yes but Ron quickly stopped her. "'Mione, don't say what your about to say," he said quickly and then to Malfoy he hissed, "That's fucking low you prick."

"Oh trust me, Weasel, I have no desire to see Mud here in all her glory."

 _In all her glory? What on earth was he talking about?_ "Ron?"

Ron turned to her and quietly he explained. "This is Wizard Truth or Dare. If you chose Dare and then refuse the Dare all your clothes disappear and you're forced to walk around going about your daily business with nothing on for a day."

Her mouth fell open. She had two choices, neither of which was any better than the other. One was to perform a task that was akin to poking a sleeping dragon in the eye, the other was to be shamed and humiliated in front of the entire faculty. She glared balefully at Ron. "Great idea," she whispered harshly, tears had started to well up in her eyes and she fought them back. "Fantastic. _Only ugly people don't get kissed in truth or dare,_ ha ha isn't it funny? Well now we know who is ugly and who is about to go and hurl water over the one person that could possibly make my life a living hell, thanks a fucking heap." She turned to Draco who was grinning expectantly. "It looks like I have no choice. I'll do it. When?"

"No time like the present."

********

Hermione could never recall the trip to the dungeons seeming so long or so perilous. Harry, Ron and Justin went with her to give her moral support and perhaps just to see what happened. Draco lead the way to Snape's' chambers and the Marauders Map confirmed that he was indeed inside.

Draco whispered the pass word, low enough that no one else could hear it and Hermione wondered briefly how he knew it. They crept inside. Ron electing at the last minute to wait in the corridor as only three of them would fit under the invisibility cloak and when the shit hit the fan they didn't all want to be seen. Draco conjured up a large wooden bucket of water and handed it to Hermione and the three boys ducked under the safety of the cloak.

Hermione, holding the bucket, approached the bed with its sleeping form of Snape.

The first thing she noticed was that his wand was on the night stand and carefully she moved it so that he wouldn't hex (or kill) her when he woke up. She then observed him for a moment, lying on his side, hand curled into a loose fist on the pillow. He was breathing deeply, each gentle exhalation of breath resulting in the lightest of snores. His hair spilled across the crisp white linen in an inky dark stain. For a moment the word 'fragile' flashed in her mind and she felt, with rising dismay, that she couldn't do it. It was Snape certainly. Nasty, evil, snaky Snape. But he looked so peaceful when he was asleep!

She lifted the bucket, murmured a quick prayer to what ever Gods may keep her, and hurled its icy contents over the sleeping form.

The reaction was instantaneous. He shrieked. Not a yell but an honest shriek. Like a banshee or some kind of wild creature, and he sprang up, reaching wildly for his wand and upon not finding it he flew in a blind rage at the girl standing at the end of the bed.

Hermione found her legs were running without her telling them too, and judging by all of the noise behind her, the boys were out the door and running themselves.

Snape was up and after her. His legs were longer and rage had made him swift and she felt long pale fingers close around her upper arm and she was yanked back into the room to be confronted by one exceedingly angry Potions Master. He was shaking in fury, perhaps not even registering yet that he was soaked to the skin.

"GIVE ME MY WAND!" he bellowed and she fumbled with it, having forgotten that she was still holding it. He wrenched it out of her hand and pointed it at her and for a moment she was sure he was going to kill her then and there.

"PPProfessor, ppplease," she sobbed at him, his fingers were digging painfully into her arm and she stared into what she could see of the tip of the wand pointed at her head. He was shaking all over with rage.

"Lumos" he muttered and the tip of his wand erupted into light. Hermione almost wet herself with shock.

"Professor Snape, I'm sorry, it was a dare…"

"Miss Granger?" He was starting to wake fully and was suddenly noticing that his attacker was the Know – it - all Granger girl, and that was almost more shocking than being drenched at 2am.

"Yes Professor."

 _"What do you think you're doing?"_ His voice was strained, as though he was confused enough to not even growl dangerously at her.

"It was a game of Truth or…"

" _A Game?_ You think disturbing my sleep is a _game_?"

"No Sir, I…"

"Detention," he snarled, rapidly recovering his wits. "Miss Granger, I plan to make you wish you had never been born."

He dragged her to the door and hurled her out with such force that she hit the opposite wall, bumping her head against the stone work. He then slammed the door shut.

Hermione slumped to the ground and reached her hand up to her head, convinced she was bleeding. Her friends had obviously deserted her and she was left alone on the floor in the dungeons. Without anyone to observe her, she dissolved into tears.

***************************************

 **NOTES:** For anyone who cares to read them….

The Mutus Liber translated means "The Mute Book" and is fifteenth century book of engravings depicting the Alchemical processes of a man and a women.

The Primus Materia literally means Primal Materials and actually refers to the making of Condensers (yes they do exist) being the first steps in working with Alchemy.  
The Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities is based on Nick Bantocks "The Museum at Purgatory". The ten Galleries of my version are as follows:

The Eretria Room – Obscure Objects  
The Psammetichus Room – Magic Carpets  
The Samians Room – Shrines and magical boxes  
The Pedasus Room – Entomological Amalgams  
The Sais Room – The exhibition of Dark Magic and Death Eaters (to be sent on tour)  
The Hartog Room – Magical Games  
The Aphetae Room – Ancient Magic and Sacred Bundles  
The Battus Room – Sfumatoglyphics  
The Ladice Room – Muggle Witch Hunt Memorabilia  
The Dorus Room – Angels and Demons.


	5. Whatever Gets You Throught the Night

_Disclaimer: See prologue_

 **Chapter 4**

 **Whatever gets you through the night…**

Draco, having wisely elected not to go to breakfast on Monday morning, floated languidly in the centre of the pool sized tub of the South West tower, over looked by a statue of Circe who watched the naked form with a salacious smile on her lips. Occasionally she would throw a combination of mineral salts and scents into the tub from a great crystal bowl and called to him to come to her. He knew better than to go.

He focused on the stone nymphs who inhabited the ceiling, frolicking prettily, displaying their delightfully androgynous limbs to him and promising all sorts of pleasures with their seductive smiles. He wondered if they put this show on for everyone who entered the bathroom. He was also aware of a ghost who came here to watch. She kept to the shadows and he didn't mind her presence. He figured that, if he were a ghost, he would probably do the same thing.

At the memory of the look on Grangers face when Snape grabbed her he chuckled. It had been one of those priceless moments he knew he would treasure for a very long time. Still, he had been surprised when Snape didn't demand her expulsion, Draco had hoped for it. Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than seeing the Know - it - all Mudblood thrown out of the one place she seemed determined to stay for ever. He had no doubt she would end up a teacher here. He had already decided that his own children, should he ever have them, would be sent to Durmstrang.

"It's time to go, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked in the direction of Circe who had knelt down to the side of the pool. She always let him know when it was getting too late, the nymphs on the ceiling looked disappointed. He swam to the side beside her and traced one finger over the cold marble of her face. "Thanks love," he told her, and flicked his tongue along the stone jaw line. "I'll see you tomorrow." With that he heaved himself out of the pool and wrapped himself in a thick fluffy towel.

"Are you sure you would not like to kiss my mouth?" Circe asked. "You'll find it warmer than you expect."

He grinned and replied silkily; "now, my love, what do you take me for?" He looked up once again at the nymphs on the ceiling. He had no desire to end up as one of them. She looked as disappointed as a stone statue could and returned to her standing position, becoming inanimate and hard. Waving a quick goodbye to the bathrooms ornaments and its secretive ghost, he went back to his room to get ready for class.

~ ~ ~

"I'm gonna kill him," Ron was muttering between bites of toast. "I'm gonna smash that ugly Malfoy face of his, and then I'm gonna kill him."

Harry let him rant, more concerned for Hermione's state of mind than Ron's'. Ron had never liked Malfoy; this was just an extension of that. The slight on Hermione just added fuel to that particular fire and it didn't really bother Harry one bit. Malfoy was rotten to the core, just as his entire family line had been. Harry accepted it, and if Ron wanted to rant about it for another few hours, he could. Hermione, on the other hand was not angry at all. She was simply silent and miserable. She was not talking to Ron at all and she spoke to Harry only when she needed to. She had been humiliated and degraded not just by Malfoy, but by everyone in the game last night. What irked Harry was that he and Ron had been as much to blame as anyone.

Ron had told him about her "fucking ugly" comments. Hermione had never struck Harry as being one who would worry about her looks. She never bothered with makeup, she never bothered to do anything special with her hair and she had certainly never complained about her looks. He had always assumed that she was comfortable in her own skin. This hint, that perhaps she wasn't, rattled him. If Hermione wasn't solid who would be?

At the High table, Snape was looking sour and decidedly the worse for wear after his impromptu bath at 2am. Harry remembered how he used to spend his nights prowling the halls, it seemed that of late he had actually been sleeping. Harry wondered what he used to keep the nightmares at bay and if he would sleep soundly again after last nights intrusion. For the second time in his life Harry felt a pang of pity for the man. He couldn't really blame him for giving Hermione detention; anyone would have in his place. They were only grateful that he hadn't expelled her.

"We should tell Snape it was Malfoy's dare," Ron reasoned, "he'd have to understand that."

Harry doubted that the least popular kid at school had ever been invited to play Truth or Dare - or that he would have been stupid enough to do it if he had been asked. No, Snape would not understand the concept of Malfoy forcing Hermione to play the practical joke without the use of the imperious curse. Besides, when it came to Draco Malfoy Snape had a blind spot wider than a Quidditch pitch.

~ ~ ~

Archibald Semeuse stood back to admire his handiwork. His Death Eaters started back at him from their glass cases. Only his Angel of Death was not yet sealed for the first of the visitors. He had propped him up in the corner of the case where he looked like an oversized porcelain doll.

"Now Lucius," he had said in an almost fatherly manner, "I want you to keep your head up so the people can see you. It won't do to have it hanging down on your chest now will it?"

Lucius' head fell forward as soon as Semeuse released it. He tutted impatiently and lifted his head, resting it on a tilt against the glass side of the case. He had not the heart to wire his limbs as he had the others. Wire would require cutting and drilling into the flesh and bone and the first rule of collecting was that: if you have a perfect specimen, do nothing to mar it. He would never mar this flesh, at least in no way that would decrease his aesthetic value.

His first task had been to clean Lucius up. The state in which he arrived really showed only a little of his true potential. He had still been dressed in the filthy rags he had been kissed in and after that he had been thrown in one of the deepest cells in Azkaban to rot and await some kind of use. The bodies of the kissed Death Eaters existed in a crude state of semi hibernation. They breathed at a slower, shallower rate than a normal functioning human and they could go long periods without sustenance - but it could not be indefinite.

They had the basic functions available to allow them to live. They ate, drank, slept, defecated, pissed and breathed. If their lives were in mortal peril, their bodies instinctively forced them to walk and move their limbs, but such actions were limited and required huge amounts of energy. In the deepest cell in Azkaban for four months, they had indeed moved. They had needed to. They needed to eat. After pumping his stomach he found something that looked remarkably like a semi digested rat and some other foreign meat that could have been human. Not that Lucius would have known what he was doing, they had no conscious thought, they only had reactions that allowed them to survive. It truly was a fate worse than death.

Semeuse highly doubted that his angel had any concept of what his name was anymore, but he always referred to him as Lucius, saying the name with a softness in the centre, as Lu-shus. Had he ever met Lucius Malfoy prior to the Kiss, the man would have hexed him into oblivion for addressing him in such a way. He had always been very careful to introduce himself in such a way as to leave no doubt as to the pronunciation of his name. "Luce – ee – us Malfoy."

As he worked Semeuse spoke to him, telling him in detail what he was doing, ("I'm undressing you, I'm pumping your stomach, I'm washing you, I'm cutting you finger nails") and he took a great deal of pleasure in his work. As the layers of filth came off, the beauty of what lay beneath was revealed. He was far too thin, a product of months of neglect. Any fat he had once had was long since gone and what remained were long sinewy muscles, slowly breaking down from lack of use, encased in smooth, pale flesh. Semeuse had removed his gloves to finish the job, allowing his hands to run the length of the warmed skin, to touch him intimately, testing his reactions to stimulation. The body still functioned, but the face bore no registration that anything had happened. He washed the long pale hair and combed it out. It hung long, to the top of his angels' thighs, the color of moonlight and as soft as gossamer thread. But it was when he shaved his face that Semeuse could truly savor the beauty that he had before him. His jaw was sharp, ending in a pointy chin and the curve of his mouth was sensual.

He was an Angel.

He was perfect, every aspect of him. Semeuse felt for the first time and not the last that he didn't want the world to see this. This was his specimen, his Angel. But the Ministry would ask questions if he wasn't on display. They were determined to have him. He was very important. He had been one of the worst apparently. Semeuse had heard the rumors, but looking at his trophy, he didn't care if they were true. Semeuse cared only about beauty. When Lucius Malfoy went from being a walking talking Death Eater to being the specimen sitting in front of him, he ceased to be a seeing feeling being. He was a work of art now, he was Semeuse's work of art.

"Can you hear me Lucius?" Semeuse whispered and smiled. "Well, perhaps not."

He bent forward and kissed the corner of Lucius's eye as lightly as he would have dusted the most ancient piece of parchment. His tongue flicked across the silken texture of Lucius's eyelashes and then slid down his cheek, leaving a glistening trail of spit in it's' wake and finally sort passage between the exquisitely curved lips.

Lucius Malfoy blinked.

~ ~ ~

For Hermione, the day passed all too quickly and her dread of the evening's detention caused her to simply exist throughout the day rather than take any active part in it. She had forced herself to eat a large lunch, seeing as Snape wanted her for detention at 5:30 and dinner was at the same time. She doubted the Potions Master would have a nice tray of sandwiches waiting for her.

She had managed to ignore Ron who had spent his day in turn insulting and threatening Malfoy who had drawled lazy replies with the air of someone who is faintly amused but ultimately bored by the challenge. Harry had tried to keep her spirits up, pointing out that, whatever happened, Snape could hardly hurt her and that she was at least still in school, so he hadn't done his worst. Of course, none of them really knew what Snape's worst could possibly be.

In class, the Potions Master had seemed only a little more nasty than usual and she was sure that he added the extra Matricaria Essence to her cauldron that caused her Angelic Eye Potion to turn blood red instead of silver. She said nothing about it (although Harry had bristled with fury) and accepted that she would fail that particular potion. She had no doubt that she could do it right. She would make it again in her own time just to make sure. It was during Potions class that he informed her of the time she was required for detention.

"What about dinner?" Harry had asked him in a voice that sounded remarkably like a challenge and Hermione had winced and wanted to tell him that he didn't need to rescue her from the Evil Potions Master. But that was Harry's way of dealing with things and when Snape had simply turned his cynical eye him and sneered before stalking off, Hermione had understood that she would have to listen to a half hour rant about that too.

Once lessons had finished she returned to the tower to quickly get some homework done, changed into a warmer set of robes and set off to the dungeons.

~ ~ ~

 _Artemisia Absinthium_

 _30g Wormwood Leaves  
8.5 g Hyssop stem, leaves and flowers  
1.8g Calamus Root  
6.0g Lemon balm  
30.0 g Anise Seeds  
25.0 g Fennel Seeds  
10.0g Star Anise  
3.2g Coriander Seeds  
4.2g Mint Leaves  
1.0g Citron Peel Lemon_

 _Starting on the full moon, Macerate and  
distil the ingredients and allow to steep for  
half moon cycle. Strain liquid and decant  
One moons cycle._

 _Dilute with 75% Alcohol_

 _Decant one moon cycle._

 _Pour 1 part liqueur, burn 1 cube sugar into  
Liquor. Pour 6 parts iced water through caramelized sugar. The louche should be evident._

 _Imbibe immediately_

Professor Severus Snape added Hyssop flowers to his mortar and pestle and decided that he really had been teaching for far too long. He had only meant to stay until the Dark Lord was well and truly dead (or had triumphed, in which case he would have simply adjusted his loyalties and survived), either way, he was not supposed to still be here, teaching dunderheaded children how to brew potions they would never use. Once upon a time his advanced classes were his only solace. Now his advanced classes included Harry Potter and that Muggle Born Granger girl who decided to take complete leave of her senses and hurl water over him at 2am.

If only he had gotten to his wand before he truly woke up. He could hear himself now; "Really, Albus, it was an accident. She threw water over me, I reacted instinctively," and the girl would be gone and not coming to the dungeons to give him more grief.

He had wanted to go after the war had ended, but Dumbledore…Dumbledore had convinced him otherwise. Dumbledore had asked the obvious question. Who would employ him? What would he do if he wasn't here? Severus had a pretty enough estate of his own in Wiltshire, left to him by a Father who bitterly clung to life in some vain hope that he would give forth another heir that he considered worthy enough to inherit. Of course the old bastard had managed to gamble away anything that resembled money incumbent on the estate, along with any respect that the Snape family name ever had afforded. Despite Lucius Malfoy's many offers to purchase the place (it bordered his own estate and the Malfoy's just hated the idea of not owning _everything_ in sight), Severus had held on to it, hoping one day to actually be able to live in it.

For the time being he had to pay for its upkeep. To do that he needed a job and Dumbledore had been right, who would employ him? He was a petty, foul tempered man with little more than his skill with Potions, a propensity for Dark magic and an ability to play sides admirably to recommend him. While his qualifications were good, there were not many people who would trust him as far as they could kick him. Dumbledore seemed the only person willing or able to look beneath the façade, and whether the old mans trust in him was warranted even Severus did not know.

He would probably be here until he died. It was a fate he secretly considered fairly just considering his sins. It wasn't such an awful fate. He had the luxury of indulging in making whatever potion he liked and although his passion for them had waned over the years, there were still certain things he liked to throw together. The Artemisia Absinthium being just one of them. His very nature ensured he was left pretty much alone by most of the faculty, staff included, with a couple of notable exceptions.

He was known to go out to dinner on regular occasions with Minerva McGonagall, causing all sorts of speculations amongst the general staff who would never gossip in front of him and who also would never realize that most of their conversations at said dinners revolved around two topics. Minerva's rather tempestuous relationship with the schools Headmaster (Dumbledore it seemed, whilst being infinitely wise, had absolutely no idea about the female psyche. Minerva wanted marriage, he thought things were fine as they were, they had been together over 50 years, and Severus had no doubt that she had been bemoaning it for the same amount of time) and Severus's love life or lack there of (the conversations was usually one sided on this account. Minerva would start on him about finding some nice girl to settle down with and Severus would eat and scowl.)

His other regular conversation partner was Dumbledore himself who would come and bemoan his rather tempestuous relationship with the Transfigurations Mistress (Why on earth, after all this time together would Minerva still want marriage? Things are just were fine as they are, aren't they?) and since the War was over they would play chess while Dumbledore harassed him about finding some nice girl to settle down with. In such cases Severus would scowl and carefully position his chess pieces for the kill. Dumbledore could do things with a wand no one had ever seen before, but he couldn't win at chess…ever.

So, his fate was not so bad and after this year was over he would never have to set eye on Harry Potter again and he would be able to lay that particular ghost to rest. That was until the little heroes progeny turned up. Severus shuddered and hoped against hope that it would be a girl and would take after its mother, whoever that unfortunate girl would be.

He turned his attention back to the concoction in front of him and added the Star Anise. It was beginning to smell overwhelmingly like liquorice, which meant it was coming along nicely. He added the contents of the mortar and pestle to the decantation on the burner and watched as it turned emerald green.

When there was a knock at the door he knew exactly who it was, so he let her wait and stew a little before calling "Enter".

Hermione Granger slipped into his office and hesitantly came up to his desk, her eyes flicking over the potion he was working on. "I'm here for detention, Sir," she said.

"I know that Miss Granger", he snapped and she chewed her lip and looked at her shoes. He stirred the potion and returned his hard glare at her, watching her shuffle on the spot and chew on her mouth. He was amazed it didn't bleed the amount that she did that. He hated it as a habit, but the by-product was that it made her lower lip swell a little and that actually made her mouth look somewhat attractive. He wondered if she knew that when she did it. She probably did, vain little wretch.

He was uncomfortably aware that he found her attractive. He had for a year now. He highly doubted that anyone else did. She wasn't particularly tall and her face was somewhat plain for current fashions. She had clear brown eyes, a heart shaped face with a freckled nose and a little mouth with an oft swollen lower lip that he occasionally fantasized about biting. She had started tying her unruly hair back which was probably a good thing considering if she was going to make a career with potions (as she was threatening to do according to her careers sheets). She would need to keep it back and out of her work. He had lost count of the times he had been grading her work over the years only to find a great long hair in it. Other wise he preferred it out, he liked the way it frizzed when the weather was damp.

He was fortunate that his appreciation of her physical appearance was tempered with his utter dislike for her personality. She was exactly what he hated in a woman. She was a know it all who learned everything from a book but had no real appreciation for life. She could perform any spell or charm perfectly and expected applause when she did so. She was always mouthing off about what she knew when what she didn't know could fill volumes. She let the boys take all the glory and walk all over her. Still, she was a student and she was lucky enough to survive the war, so she had her whole life to become better at it. Just so long as she did so far away from him.

"Down those stairs" he said and indicated with his wand. The wall opposite opened up and a stair case appeared. "You will find my personal supply room."

"but I thought your personal stores were…" She stopped.

"Obviously you will be having the filter installed between your brain and your mouth next week Miss Granger?"

"Yes Professor."

" And I can assume that I can add stealing to the list of your offenses?"

No!" She chewed furiously, "I…err…no, Sir"

He smiled, enjoying her discomfort. He was no fool. Students had been stealing from the Potion Masters office since Hogwarts was founded. He certainly had when he was a student. His first order of business upon taking up the post had been to find a safer hiding place.

"You will find, Miss Granger that I do not keep everything within such easy reach of the student populace. What you will find downstairs is among the more…toxic…of ingredients, and you, being the excellent student that you are, I am sure that you will be able to handle them adequately."

He was well aware that his reference to her excellence as a student sounded like an insult. He made it a practice to never praise his students, especially ones he found distasteful. He was also well aware that she was his star student and the fact the she was a Gryffindor know-it-all Muggle Born irked him beyond measure.

"You will go down there," he continued, "and you will sort and catalogue every ingredient and potion. Anything that is decanting should be approached with caution as many are volatile and I would hate to have to get the House Elves to scrape you off the wall." He almost chuckled at her reaction to that. "If you find anything is running low, you will make a note if it. Anything that is almost empty or is empty you will clean out the jar and set it aside. I expect you to make every effort to get this finished before you leave tonight because I don't want to have to let you back in tomorrow because of your ineptitude…oh, and I expect you to do all of this without the use of Magic."

Her mouth fell open.

"I will thank you to stop gaping like a fish, Miss Granger, and I suggest you get started, I am hoping to actually get some sleep tonight."

She looked as though she was about to cry and he silently prayed that she wouldn't. Women who were given over to fits of hysterics drove him to distraction and considering the amount of girls (and boys) he had made cry over the years, it was amazing he was still sane.

But she did not cry. She miserably said, "Yes Sir,' and descended the stairs.

~ ~ ~

"Impedimenta!"

Harry advanced on Malfoy who was lying on his back breathing heavily, his eyes glinting wildly as he thought about what exactly to do next. It had been a low move and Harry knew it, casting reducto and blowing up a porcelain trinket box and while Malfoys attention was momentarily distracted, he hit him with Impedimenta which had knocked him into his present position. But Malfoy was excellent at shielding and seemed able to dodge anything. Harry had become desperate to hit him with anything he could in any way he knew how.

He advanced on Malfoy, who despite his position of the floor was just as powerful and raised his wand.

"Expelliarmus."

"Protego." Malfoy's shield spell knocked the disarming spell aside effectively and it disappeared harmlessly into the wall.

Harry opened his mouth to throw something else at the blond haired wizard in front of him. He was going to win this, he always won these things. Malfoy could dodge and shield all he wanted, but when it came down to it, Harry was the winner.

"Primus Apnoea!" Malfoy yelled before Harry could get anything out and a bright yellow burst of light flew out of the wand and hit Harry squarely in the chest.

It was as though hands reached into his chest and squeezed every last ounce of air from his lungs. He desperately tried to draw breath only to discover that his throat was blocked. He couldn't breathe, not even the smallest intake of air was possible and he stared wildly at Malfoy who paused for a moment and laughed short and sharp at the success of the curse.

Malfoy picked himself up off the floor and slowly, deliberately, started to dust himself off, picking at even the minutest piece of lint on his robes, smoothing down his hair.

"You like that Potty?" He drawled, "I came up with that one myself, but I have to say, it worked far better than I could have hoped."

A thin stream of drool began to spill from Harry's mouth, he brought a hand convulsively to his throat while keeping the other, still holding his wand, trained on Malfoy, not that he could speak or even concentrate hard enough to cast.

"That trinket box belonged to my Mother," he hissed, "You had better hope I can repair it."

Harry could barley stand now. When was Malfoy going to counter the hex? No time soon. The blond was grinning with malicious pleasure as he watched Harry drop to his knees, green eyes beginning to goggle and he gestured wildly for Malfoy to release him.

"Now now Potter, you will have to speak up. I can't understand what you are trying to say to me."

Fucking evil little shit. He was more like his Father than Harry could ever have anticipated he would be. Harry hauled himself to his feet and lurched out of the room and into the corridor, Malfoy trailing along behind laughed merrily and avoided the trail of spit that Harry was leaving in his wake.

~ ~ ~  
Continued...


	6. Whatever Gets You Throught the Night P2

From part 1

~~~

Hermione hissed sharply through her teeth and dropped the vial she was holding. She really should have asked for gloves, not that the slimy git upstairs would give her any. She inspected her hand where the contents of the vial had splashed and was alarmed to see the flesh bubbling angrily. By Gods it hurt, it was the fourth time in as many hours that she had done this and she was becoming increasingly frustrated at her own clumsiness. She quickly cast a healing charm over the wound and the burning subsided, leaving a nasty red welt as a scar.

She crouched down and cleaned up the broken vial and cursed the hour that gave birth to Snape. Then she cursed Snape's mother for going through labor with the slimy git, then she cursed his Father for producing the seed that spawned him. Then she had to actually consider the fact that he was actually some poor couple's child. How awful for them. He wasn't that old, not really, around the same age as her own parents and she still had both sets of Grand Parents so chances were that Snape's parents were still alive! What must they think of the nasty piece of work he had become? She felt a moment's pity for the couple she had never met.

He would have known that it would take hours to clean this room out. It would have taken hours with magic, and it would take more than double that without it. She considered the idea that he may have just left her there and gone to bed and she should maybe just use her wand. But no, he would hardly leave a girl he basically knew had stolen supplies from him in that past with an entire storeroom of goodies that many would kill to get their hands on.

And really, the room was pretty special.

There was an amazing array of potions, all labeled with Snape's cramped handwriting, all dated with the time and date of their decanting. If he was a nicer person she would have engaged him in conversation about the potions he had in here. Shape shifting potions, antidotes for anything and everything including a vampire bite, and essences of things she had never considered even existed let alone had essence. There was an entire shelf of what could only be called, Angel Essence. They were dark and sticky looking, like liquid amber, some had what looked like clots of blood in them and the occasional feather. Each Essence had a name, "Abdiel", "Chamuel", "Jophiel", Michael", Zachiel". She had heard rumors and tales of angel essence of course, but she had thought they were myths and fairy tales. The essence was extracted from angels killed during the celestial wars at the dawn of time. It seemed an impossibility that such things would exist in Snapes collection, but here they were.

In another cabinet she had found the real treasure haul. Well, a treasure haul to the average 18 year old witch or wizard. Absinthe. Not just any Absinthe, but real, Wizards Absinthe. Each bottle, and there had to be twenty of them, labeled and dated. Ron had begged her to make it once, she had found a recipe for it in an old book of potions and she had read it thoroughly and decided against it. It seemed easy enough, but one wrong quantity could make it lethal and she really didn't want the death of her two best friends on her conscience.

It had been illegal in the Wizarding world for longer than it had been illegal in the Muggle world. Dating back to the famous trial in 1863 when Argion Mulchet had been imprisoned for standing in the centre of Leicester Square and declaring to every Muggle within earshot that there was a magical world existing alongside there own and if they would just hold still long enough he would prove it. He then proceeded to fly several laps of the square on his broom stick and let off a stream of multicolored fireworks from his wand. In depictions from the time, he could clearly be seen smiling cheerily and holding a mostly empty bottle of Absinthe. He had claimed in his own defense that the Green Fairy made him do it. The liqueur was subsequently banned and Mulchet was killed on his way to Azkaban by an Auror who was mourning the loss of his favorite tipple. Interestingly enough, the Auror got off.

That Snape could make Absinthe was no real surprise. He _was_ a brilliant Potions Master. She had always thought herself lucky to be studying in his class, regardless of the fact that he was, well, evil. That Snape actually _did_ make Absinthe and very probably drank it too, now that shocked her beyond measure. She had read about it of course. The drink of artists, the drink of bohemians, the drinks of 19th Century Paris, of music and dancing and light and color. It was a drink that belonged to a different age, it had influenced an entire Muggle art movement. It was a drink of decadence and beauty, desire and delight. It was not a drink of the foul, greasy man upstairs. The very idea of Snape drinking Absinthe was an affront to its reputation. She felt offended for all Absinthe everywhere.

She had never tried it. She was not a big drinker and drinking almost always lead her into trouble (the contract being a prime example). She was certainly drinking more since the war, but so was everyone. Malfoy, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be making a valiant effort to drink himself to death, something that more than a few people would welcome. But Hermione didn't want the Absinthe for the purposes of getting drunk. She could do that with nettle wine. It was that curiosity, her biggest demon, dictated that she had to try this stuff. She had to because she had read about it. Imagined it. Fantasized about the world that was built around it. She had to try it. She was duty bound to do so.

She wondered if he would notice of she stole a bottle. Ron would love her for it and they could use it as a bribe for Malfoy (who would no doubt fall over himself to get his hands on it).

 _What was she thinking?_ Snape was known to be meticulous, he no doubt counted the bottles and as she was the only other person to ever come down here it would be pretty bloody obvious who took it.

A sip. He wouldn't miss a sip, surely? She drew out one of the bottles carefully and inspected it. It was the same color as Harry's eyes and she smiled at it. Having personalized it thus, it couldn't be a bad thing. She pulled the stopper out and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled heavily of Anise and herbs and something unfamiliar.

 _Oh well, here goes nothing._ She raised the bottle to her lips.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you"

She froze, bottle to her lips, eyes wide in horror.

He walked to her and pried the bottle from her hand and replaced the stopper.

"Professor Snape!" she yelped, "Sir, I…I…I…sorry...I…curious…Absinthe…I…Sir…"

"Stop babbling girl!" He snapped, "Really, Miss Granger, there I was wondering why you were taking so long and now I see you haven't been working at all, but instead you have been helping yourself to my stores."

"I…I didn't have any, Sir"

"I can see that, you silly girl, your still standing,"

She blushed bright red, "Sir?"

"Do you have any idea what this is?" He asked.

"Absinthe, Sir, I've read about it, I just wanted to…"

"Silence!" he placed the bottle back on the shelf. "One day, Miss Granger, you will find that what you read in books is often vastly different to the reality. Yes, the drink is Absinthe, but it is not the Muggle concoction you would have read so much about. If you had drunk from this particular bottle you would have imbibed more Calamus than you body could handle, you would start to hallucinate and then you would die."

"I…I didn't realize Professor."

"Obviously not."

"I'm sorry Professor"

She was positively gnawing on her lip now and he resisted the urge to slap her. He raised a cynical eyebrow and said; "You will also find that saying sorry doesn't automatically make things better. Detention, for the remainder of the week."

"Yes Professor."

He turned from her and looked about the room. "I see you have been taking your time," he tutted silkily, "my my, only half way finished, it looks like you will be back tomorrow night. Unless of course you would prefer to continue until you are done?"

She was about to say, _"No Sir, I'll come back tomorrow,"._ she was about to because anything that could get her out of that room right then was the best thing ever. She was about to, but she didn't. She didn't because she was interrupted. She was interrupted by the very loud slamming of the very heavy door to the store room.

 _That's ok, he'll just open it and we will go our separate ways._

His face drained of color.

 _Oh, that doesn't look good._

"Shit" he said.

 _Oh, he swore, that didn't sound good._

He went to the door and whispered, "alohamora", nothing happened.

 _Not Good._

"Fuck!" he exclaimed.

 _Really, Really, Not Good. If he was swearing without reservation in front of her, it really couldn't be good._

He let out a stream of hexes and obscenities at the door which remained unmoved and very decidedly closed.

"Professor?" She asked.

"Stupid fucking, shit assed wanker of a….."

"Professor?"

"Piece of shit fucking…"

 _"PROFESSOR!"_

"WHAT?!" He rounded on her, eyes blazing.

"Umm, do we have a problem?"

He snorted impatiently. "What? Has that marvelous brain of yours suddenly taken a leave of absence?" He retorted scathingly, "Yes, Miss Granger, we have a problem. The Castle has decided to lock us in for the night."

The Night? Was he kidding? "The Castle?" she yelped, "Can it do that?"

"Really, have you never read 'Hogwarts, A History'? The Castle can do what ever the hell it likes."

"Oh." She returned to gnawing away at her lip, "What are we going to do?"

"The only thing we can do. Sit down and wait it out."

~ ~ ~

By the time Harry reached the common room, he was turning blue. Ron, who flew into a state of total panic, was no use at all, if it hadn't been for Anthony Goldstein who leapt forward and cried "Finite Incantatem", he probably would have died. He liked to think that Malfoy may have freed him before that happened, but in all honesty he wasn't so sure. He fell forward and took a long, sweet heavenly breath of air.

"Ohthankthegods (breathe) I couldn't (breathe) breathe (breathe)"

"Had enough, Potter?" Malfoy drawled from the archway.

"Fuck (breathe) you (breathe) Malfoy (breathe)"

"Not tonight, Potty," he replied nastily, "So I take it you want to continue?" He pointed his wand at Harry, sneered and prepared for a fresh attack.

"Stop it Malfoy!" Ron cried and raised his own wand.

Malfoy raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "We're sparring Weasel. Potty hasn't called finish yet."

"That's because he can't you bastard!"

Malfoy laughed. "Bastard? I'll have you know my parents were married five full years before I was born."

"Oh yeah," Ron scoffed, "your parents. I wouldn't be too proud of that twist of breeding."

Malfoy turned his wand on Ron, his pale eyes narrowed, his voice suddenly lowered, the drawl becoming a growl; "What did you say about my parents?"

"You heard me," Ron smirked. "I wouldn't be too proud of that if I were you. They probably only waited that long because your Father liked the idea of touching himself more than your Mother. Probably had to call a vet in, that's how they inseminate cows you know."

Draco turned red, then white and hissed through bared teeth, "I'm a damn sight more proud than you have any right to be. At least my family has the ability to afford to give me the best of everything, unlike your gutter trash lot who produce more than they could feed. But then I hear they are a couple of mouths less these days, must be such a relief for your parents."

This was getting dangerous. Both boys were facing each other, wands raised, teeth bared. Everyone but Harry took a step back, desperately wanting to see what happened but having no desire to be caught in the cross fire.

"Ron, calm down" Harry said as firmly as his sore throat and lungs would allow, "don't pay any attention to him, you know what he's like."

"Yeah, I know what he's like," Ron hissed, "so proud that his family can do this and that and every bloody other thing besides. Wake up to yourself Malfoy, your parents can't even wipe their own asses anymore! My family has the gratitude of our world, my Father looks like being the next Minister of Magic and your family is part of a traveling freak show. The Amazing Drooling Malfoys. Now there's a show I'd love to see, I'll go every fucking day when it comes to Hogsmeade! Ma and Pa Malfoy, sitting in their own shit and I'll go and take pictures for you so you have something to remember them by."

Malfoy had paled even further. His wand hand had fallen slackly by his side and at the end of Ron's tirade, the wand clattered to the floor. His eyes glazed over and he stared, unseeing, at the red head in front of him.

"What's wrong, Ferret?" Ron laughed, going in for the kill, "Did I hit a soft spot? Going to cry? I heard you did when they got their little kiss good bye. I heard you cried like a baby, I…"

"RON!" Harry grabbed his friend and spun him around to face him. "Stop it, this is beneath you."

Malfoy had gone. He'd turned and disappeared down the corridor and back to the sanctity of his room.

"He needed to be told Harry," Ron said defensively. "He deserved it."

Harry looked around at his group of friends, they all seemed to be uncomfortably agreeing with Ron. They had all taken some kind of perverse pleasure in the exchange. He shook his head, trying to make sense of the fact that he hadn't. He had spent years hoping on day to see Draco Malfoy taken down a few pegs, now when it finally happened, he just felt sad for him.

"We're doing a late night study group in library, you coming?"

Harry shrugged, "Umm. Yeah, later, I want to have a bath first."

"Ok, sure." Ron looked at him, trying to read his face. "Malfoy deserved it Harry" he said after a time. "He would have let you die before he released that curse."

Harry doubted it, but what did he know? Malfoy's were rotten to the core, that's what everyone had always said, and none of them had ever proved other wise. He smiled reassuringly at Ron, "Yeah Mate, whatever. I stink, I'm going to have a bath and I'll come up to the library straight after, ok?"

"Great. I'll see you there." Ron turned, "Oh, Harry?"

"Yeah"

"Can you stop by the kitchen on your way and grab some snacks…we'll probably need 'em by then."

Harry grinned and headed to the bathroom.

~ ~ ~

Over her time at Hogwarts, Hermione had learned that if she nagged and persisted enough, eventually she would get her own way. So it had been now. Locked in a cupboard with Professor Snape. It was late, probably after midnight, and she decided that it was ridiculous to be scared of him. She was eighteen, she had faced far worse, she wanted to try Absinthe and he had a supply of it - it was time to start on him.

It was surprisingly easy. It only took an hour of solid whining and he had capitulated. She couldn't believe he had. She really did think he would be harder than that.

For Snape's part he estimated that it would take two drinks and she would pass out. In fact, he was counting on it. He pulled out the bottle with the strongest concentration of the Artemisia that he had and decided that it would be sufficient to completely knock out a novice to the drink. Anything to shut her up and make the time in this ridiculous situation pass as quietly as possible.

There was a time in his life when he had drunk Absinthe with alarming regularity. He still enjoyed it although he had found he wanted it less and less. It was one of the few liquors that could truly get him drunk, possibly because he made it himself and it was incredibly potent. He knew that he should _not_ be sharing something that was not only his guilty secret but also highly illegal with Miss Hermione Granger, but he didn't want to be sitting in his store room all night listening to her and with this in mind he poured more than a little of the green liqueur into two glass goblets and placed little silver slotted spoons over each. On top of the spoons he placed some sugar, drizzled enough of the Absinthe over to soak the sugar and then set it alight. She watched, fascinated as the sugar bubbled and melted and fell into the liquid waiting below like fiery little tears.

Just because he wanted to knock her out didn't mean that he shouldn't observe the niceties that went along with the drink.

"Absinthe" he said, "is the aphrodisiac of the soul." He stirred then last of the sugar into the drink and waited until the blue flame died away.

He passed a glass to her and she turned it, marveling at the color in the light. You were supposed to add water to it, he said, if you did you could see the louche, but they had no fresh water and he said the effects would be the same. She didn't like the idea of creating the louche anyway. To do so would interfere with the glorious color of it.

He raised his glass to hers, "Salut" he said.

"Salut" she replied and clinked her glass to his.

He had told her to swallow it straight down in one quick gulp. In every film or painting that she had ever seen, the drink had been sipped, seductively, but he put paid to that notion, informing her that most Muggles who make such films and paint such pictures have no real concept of what the drink actually tastes like… or were so seasoned to it they could stomach the flavor. It was best for her to get it down as fast as she could.

So she did.

And was grateful that she had! The liquid blazed a trail of fire and Anise down her throat so vile that she gagged. Dear Gods it was the worst taste she had ever encountered, and she had drunk Polyjuice Potion! Why on earth would artists fall in love with this? Why would this awful, horrible, terrible, vile stuff be so loved and held in such esteem and notoriety?

The answer came less than a minute later when her entire body suddenly felt remarkably warm. The taste in her mouth had died down to a hot Anise flavor in the back of her throat. She felt incredibly, perfectly relaxed. She looked over at Snape who had rested back against the shelves, he was watching her intently.

"Is it always like this?" she asked, feeling a dopey smile slide across her face.

"It depends," he said, his voice had taken on a different quality, it was almost sleepy, or dreamy. "What does it feel like?"

"Um, like I am, um, really relaxed."

"That sounds about right."

"So the more you have the more relaxed you feel?"

"Not necessarily," he frowned, and the fact that he still could amazed her considering how relaxed she felt. "It is different for everyone. More could make you go to sleep, or be creative or any number of things."

"Get violent?"

"I doubt it."

"Can I have another one?"

He smiled thinly and began pouring another round of the liquor. "The Green Fairy," he said, "who lives in the Absinthe, wants your soul…but you are safe with me."

She smiled, feeling dreamily happy and wondered if she really wanted to be safe.

~ ~ ~

Harry had bathed and dressed in old blue jeans and last years Weasley jumper that was sadly becoming too small. He wondered briefly if he was too old to get one for Christmas this year. But then remembering that Bill and Charlie had both received them last Christmas, he lived in hope. That was, of course, if Mrs. Weasley still felt like knitting them. Since last Christmas she had lost two of her sons, she may never want to knit again. He pushed the thought out of his head. Of course she would knit, she loved to knit! She would be convinced that Harry and Ron would freeze to death without a jumper to tide them over.

The Common Room was deserted and he had the strongest urge to collapse into the armchair by the fire and study alone.

"I'm turning into Hermione, " he muttered with more than a little disgust. He couldn't stay, because if he stayed here alone his mind would wander into realms that he didn't want to think about at the moment. And while he had no control over his dreams, he could at least try and control his waking thoughts.

Something on the floor caught his attention. He looked closer and realized that it was Malfoy's wand.

Draco Malfoy. Now that was in the realms he didn't want to think about. Still, what a brilliant curse! Had he not been choking to death he would have had the urge to shake the mans hand for that little stroke of genius. Harry had never been able to construct his own spells. Some people had the gift and some didn't. Harry didn't. He could learn how to do ones that other people had come up with and he wondered if Malfoy would teach him that one.

He looked at the wand a moment longer and then picked it up. Malfoy must have been pretty upset to leave it behind, and he couldn't have gone to the library with the others. Malfoy was no fool. He had a lot of enemies and he knew better than to go anywhere without his wand. Besides, he'd hate to miss the opportunity to hex some poor unsuspecting first year. The wand was made of a wood so dark it was almost black. The handle was ornately carved, looking closer Harry realized that what he had taken to be serpents were actually dragons entwined around each other. He wondered if Malfoy had the handle added after he had chosen the wand. He doubted Mr. Ollivander would do that though.

He went down the corridor and knocked on Malfoys door.

No answer.

"Malfoy?" He knocked again. No answer. He turned the handle and peered into the room. "Malfoy? I found your wand, I'm just returning it, I…"

Draco, he couldn't think of him as simply Malfoy right at that moment, was curled on his side on his bed, eyes closed and breathing shallow breaths. He was almost as pale as the linen that the house elves changed each day, and the paleness only highlighted the darkening shadows under his eyes. Clutched to his chest was a wood bound book that Harry recognized as a photograph album. He had one identical to it, it contained the only pictures he had of his family. Draco had a whole shelf of them. Harry had noticed them once before when they had been sparring in here. He was glad he hadn't sent the Reducto curse at them earlier as he had originally planned.

As quietly as he could he placed the wand on the bedside table next to the broken pieces of the trinket box and turned to withdraw from the room – and knocked over several pieces of Draco's Chess set which yelped in protest.

Harry froze and stared at the figure on the beds eyes snapped open and blinked, saw Harry, blinked again and he sat bolt upright.

"What the fuck are you doing in here Potter?" he spat, "come to have another laugh at how disgusting my family is?"

"No!" Harry flushed pink, "I found your wand on the floor, I came to give it to you."

Malfoy continued to glare at him.

"Look" Harry sighed, " Everyone is at the library studying. I was going to go and join them, do you want to come?"

"No" he snapped.

"Ok, fine, whatever" he turned his back on Malfoy and was about to walk out the door when he added; "I'm really sorry about your Parents."

"Why should you be?" Draco choked. "They weren't very nice people."

~ ~ ~

"Eurydice was called. She came from among the newly-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition; that he should not turn around to look at her 'til they should have reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded on their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark and steep, in total silence, 'til they had nearly reached the outlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following, cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away. Stretching out their arms to embrace each other, they grasped only the air! Dying now a second time, she yet cannot reproach her husband, for what had she to complained of but that she was loved too much? "Farewell," she said, "a last farewell," - and was hurried away, so fast that the sound hardly reached his ears."

"What happened to Orpheus?" Hermione asked, sitting beside him and wide eyed with wonder. She took another mouthful of her drink.

"He came to a bad end. He decided to mourn forever, developed a passion for extremely young boys and was eventually torn apart by the Ciconian Women, who believed that the beauty of his songs mocked them."

"Gods, that's awful."

"It's a Myth, Miss Granger." Snape poured himself another, and seeing that she was running low he topped her up. It was amazing how fast one could get through a bottle, if she didn't pass out soon he'd have to get another down.

~ ~ ~

Ron looked at the great clock on the library wall. Where in hell was Harry? Just a quick bath eh? He wouldn't put it past Malfoy to try and drown him. He wondered for a moment if he should go and find out.

"So, what did you get for that reading?"

"Pardon? What?"

Padma sighed and looked annoyed. "Honestly Ron Weasley, if you want me to help you with Divination, you have to at least pay attention to what I am trying to show you."

"Yeah, Sorry Padma." He smiled in a way he hoped was endearing. Padma rolled her eyes but smiled in spite of herself. He brightened up. Maybe making sure Harry wasn't lying at the bottom of the pool could wait for a little bit.

~ ~ ~

"Truth or Dare?"

Snape thought for a moment before saying, "Dare".

"You never choose Truth." Hermione admonished.

"Perhaps I don't want to share them with you."

"Fair enough." She was still beside him, leaning slumped against his arm, "Ok, Dare… Um, recite a passage from Shakespeare for me."

He sighed and languidly stretched out his long limbs, upsetting her from her position. He caught her before she fell face first onto the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to steady her. "Why is it that whenever I choose Dare you get me to tell you a story?" he asked.

"Because your voice sound like magic at the moment." She nestled into the comfortable curve of his body. "When your not being _'Professor Snape'_ you have a very nice voice, I could listen to you for hours."

He sipped his drink and considered the compliment. The girl had to be ridiculously drunk and that had to be the Absinthe talking because most students left Hogwarts hoping never to hear his voice again. In fact, it had been known to evoke nightmares.

"Professor?"

"Mmm?"

"The Dare, you don't want to go naked for a day do you?"

"No, of course not. Shakespeare did you say?"

"Yep"

"It had to be a Muggle, didn't it?"

"What did you expect from a Mudblood?"

He smiled, "What indeed?"

"If you don't know any Shakespeare I win and I get to choose a reward."

"Not so hasty, if you please…' I have of late (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a God! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither…'"

"That was pretty good." It was more than good and she knew it, but it wouldn't do to let him know that.

"Thank you." He poured himself another drink. "Truth or Dare."

She considered it seriously; "Truth" she said eventually.

"How many times have you stolen things from the supplies in my office?"

He mouth fell open but she felt none of the horror that would normally accompany such a question from Snape. She craned her neck so that she could look up at him, "All up since I started at Hogwarts?" she asked innocently.

He chuckled, "Lets start at first year and work our way from there shall we?"

~ ~ ~

Harry turned back to Draco. "No," he said reluctantly, "they weren't nice people."

Draco stood and placed the photograph album back in the shelf. "So why bother lying to me and telling me how sorry you are?"

Harry frowned, "I…I _am_ sorry…perhaps not for them, but for you."

"I don't want or need your pity, Potter."

"I don't mean it that way." He sighed heavily and wondered how handle the situation. "It obviously upsets you, so I'm sorry for that."

"Well hey, " Draco said bitterly, "shit happens." His eyes became glassy again with unshed tears. He hadn't cried since the day he watched his Parents be utterly destroyed, he wasn't going to cry now, certainly not in front of Potter. "You should go" he said quickly, "I'd hate for the Weasel to wonder what happened to you, he might come up here and I'd have to hex him."

Harry laughed. "He might deserve it."

"Yeah." Draco shrugged and looked away. "He might be right."

How did Harry handle this? Draco Malfoy, full of lazy drawling sarcasm and spite he could handle. Draco Malfoy full of remorse and defeat? That was something else entirely. Lucius Malfoy was one of the most despicable men Harry had ever known, beside him Uncle Vernon was a perfect saint, so how could Harry comfort Draco when he honestly believed that his Father got no better than he deserved.

"Draco…" he said, fumbling over the name and shifting uncomfortably on the spot.

"Don't worry Potter, I'm not going to cry on your shoulder or anything."

Harry suddenly felt as though his heart had swelled in his chest, he looked at the man in front of him. Draco was indeed a man, the boy had been left behind when the war had destroyed whatever had been left of their childhood. He had filled out since his youth, although he was built on a slighter frame than Harry, he was tall like Ron. His blonde hair feathered around his face, deliberately messy. He looked a lot like his father, He had the same narrow nose, grey eyes, cheek bones and pointed chin. But Lucius Malfoy was more angular and his build bigger. There was almost a prettiness to Draco that had perhaps been the only thing that his mother had contributed to his appearance. He looked tired, possibly from too many nights lying in the dark with his eyes closed trying to fool himself into sleeping.

"Draco," Harry said again, but it was more like he breathed the word than spoke it. He stepped forward and without thinking (because if he had thought about it he would have turned and left right then) he placed his hand, opened palmed, on Draco's chest and felt his heart beating strong behind his ribs.

Draco's eyes never left his, under the touch he seemed to uncoil a little, and then tense as though he had accidentally let his guard slip for the smallest of moments. It was too late for Harry to stop now, he had already touched him, he reached his free hand up and as light as gossamer wings he ran his finger over the shadows under Draco's eyes. Draco's eyelids fluttered for a moment, and at the last minute the stayed open and allowed Harry to explore the fragile texture of the silken skin beneath his eyes. Then those fingers trailed down over the smooth curve of his cheek and along the sharp line of his jaw. Harry leaned in, not really sure of what he was meaning to do, and captured Draco's mouth in a clumsy kiss.

~ ~ ~

Hermione was felt as though she was nestled into the most comfortable chair on the earth. That it was in fact her Potion Master didn't really matter. Her back rested against his chest, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. One arm was wrapped around her, keeping her steady because she kept falling forward. His thumb was employed with absently brushing against her collar bone.

"Truth or Dare?" She asked.

He hesitated for a while, fascinated by the fact that pin points of light seemed to be descending from the roof and wondering just when he had managed to drink so much he'd started to hallucinate. "Truth" he said at last and shook his head to clear it.

"What do you think is the sexiest part of a woman's body?" She asked, wondering how the hell all the fairies had gotten into the room and how she had suddenly gotten so bold.

He laughed and said softly into her ear, "What do you think I would think the sexiest part of a woman's body is?"

"I'd take you for a breast man," she replied seriously and he laughed. Gods he should laugh more often because it is a beautiful noise.

"A breast man eh?"

"Uh huh"

"Well, I'm sorry, your wrong" he said, and looking appreciatively at the small swell of hers under her cloak he added, "although I have nothing against breasts."

"Then what part is it?" She snuggled into the warmth of him a little further.

"I like the way a well formed throat curves down from the chin and descends to the Suprasternal Notch," he whispered.

"The Supra What?"

"The Supra-Sternal-Notch"

"Where is that?"

He ran his fingers along her collar bone to the point where it met its twin. "It's here." His lips brushed her ear lightly as he spoke and she closed her eyes at the feel of it. "The hollow at the base of a woman's throat."

She moved her head aside a little and was sure that he kissed her behind her ear. She let out a groan so soft he could barely hear it…barely.

"Is there any Absinthe left?" she asked in a voice that was little more than a whimper.

"A little," he murmured, inhaling the scent of her hair. "Do you want another?"

"Yes."

~ ~ ~

They both grew tense. Harry thought, _'oh shit, no, no I shouldn't have done that!'_ and Draco's hands came up to push him away. He would say something cutting and Harry would be the laughing stock of Hogwarts for the rest of the year. But Draco's hands were treacherous beings and the traced Harry's body up from his waist, over his back and locked in behind his shoulders and pulled him deeper into the kiss.

He nudged Harry's mouth open with his tongue, just a little at first, enough to run his tongue along the silken inside of Harry's upper lip, and then a little wider, testing the sharpness of Harry's teeth before seeking a deeper entry and meeting Harry's own tongue and meshing against it in an intimate embrace.

 _Ohhhhhhhhhhhh._ Draco tasted like honey and spices and wine and Harry almost lost himself in the flavor of him. He closed his mind, not wanting stray thoughts to distract him for a moment from what he was experiencing. He needed to savor the moment, to make it stretch and stretch so that it would be imprinted on his memory to replay whenever he thought there was nothing wonderful and good left in the world. He buried his hands in Draco's silky hair, hungrily feasting on his mouth, groaning at the feel of Draco's body pushed hard against his. He needed this. They both needed this. They both needed to over come the terrible sense of loneliness that had come to reside in both their souls.

The kiss drew to a reluctant end and they rested, foreheads together, breathing, hands still on each other, the heat still between them.

"Oh Merlin," Draco whispered, panting softly.

"I…" Harry's voice was husky, his mouth swollen from the kiss, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Still soft, still whispered.

Harry blushed, "For kissing you."

"I liked kissing you" Draco breathed in reply and moved back into kiss him again, to reclaim Harry's mouth.

 _"HARRY?"_ Ron's loud searching voice carried to them from the common room stole the moment, "Harry, Where are you?"

They tensed, tore apart from each other and put some distance between them. Harry averted his eyes from Draco.

"I have to go," he mumbled.

"Ok, so go" Draco murmured in soft reply.

He looked, one last time at those grey eyes and that soft mouth before turning and fleeing out the door to Ron and everything he held sacred.

~ ~ ~

"Fuck Harry. What the hell were you doing talking to Malfoy?"

"Nothing." Harry thanked the Gods for the fact that his hair was usually a messy rats nest and so it didn't look out of place. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ron. "He left his wand out here, I took it back to him, that's all."

"Well, you must've had a really long fucking bath."

"Yeah, well, you know Circe, she hates to let you leave quickly."

"I have a feeling Myrtle spies on us you know."

Harry nodded, "I wouldn't put it past her."

"Shame you can't screw a ghost, We'd be free of this bloody contract in minutes."

"Oh Gods, Ron, that's disgusting."

Ron laughed.

"Is the study group still going?"

"Nah, its pretty late, or should I say early, it's 4am."

"SHIT!"

"Yeah" Ron yawned, "I figure we just hit the sack and get some sleep."

Harry smiled, nodded and tagged along back to his room and his bed and his inevitable dream filled sleep.

~ ~ ~

"Truth or Dare?" She whispered.

"Truth," he replied and surprised her.

Her robes were open and she was sitting between his knees, her back pulled tight against his chest. His hand was under her jumper, gently cupping her breast, the other rested against her bare thigh.

"Do you think I'm pretty or ugly?"

"Neither." he kissed her throat, allowing his tongue to linger on the flesh and taste the salty sweat of her arousal. "I think you're beautiful"

"If your lying," she whispered and gasped as clever fingers squeezed her nipple, "I'll know because you'll be giving a nude potions class tomorrow."

"Don't worry." He sucked the spot on her throat for a moment, marking it. "I'm not lying."

"Truth or Dare?' She whispered.

"It's my turn, silly." He kissed a trail down her neck to her shoulder.

"I don't care. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," he breathed

"Kiss me."

"I am kissing you."

"Kiss my mouth."

He lifted his hand from her thigh and turned her head to face him. He covered her mouth with his, hungrily kissing her, thrilling to the fact that she responded with the same intensity. She ached to twist around enough to put her arms around him, but if she did that she would dislodge his hand from her breast and at that moment she would do nothing to jeopardize that, so she contented herself with probing his mouth with her searching tongue, wondering at the flavor of Absinthe and spit and aching for him to move his hand that he had returned to her thigh further up under her skirt.

The parted for a moment, pulled apart and looked and through the drunken Absinthe fueled haze they really saw each other, as though for the first time. He wasn't the vile Potions Master any longer, he was simply Severus, knowledgeable, Shakespeare quoting Severus who smelled oddly good and kissed like it was the most delicious of sins. She was Hermione, beautiful Hermione, who wanted to know everything the world possessed, who thought his voice was magical, and who gave in to passion with such abandon it would make the saints weep for the shame.

They meshed back into the kiss.

His hand pushed up under her skirt and gently probed the lips of her vagina through the wet cotton of her underpants. She shuddered as he brushed her clit through the sodden cloth, it was as though an electric current had run from her clitoris up through her belly and into her brain. She began to melt into the touch, and when slowly, like a thief, he slid his fingers under the elastic of her panties, she urgently lifted her hips, aching for him to enter her. He pushed a long slender finger into her body, moaning softly into her mouth at the wetness her knew he would find there. He could feel her around that single finger, tight and virginal and that cut through the Absinthe a little. Moving his finger in and out of her, he gently massaged her clitoris with his thumb, never relenting on the kiss, still caressing her breast.

It was a sensory overload, too much pleasure. She had never really masturbated. Her school years had been spent in a dorm and a communal bathroom. At home she couldn't help but think that her parents were in the next room and felt awkward. At Harry's house in London she lived in fear that one of them would walk in. So the only times she had managed it had been quick and shameful moments in the dark with her mouth clamped shut and a quick perfunctory orgasm that hardly counted. Not so now, She was moaning between kissing him, her body writhed in his hands, wanton and aching, when her orgasm came it tore a scream from her that echoed around the tiny room. Her hips bucked and tensed and she ground her groin down into his hand, riding the wave of pleasure coursing through her until she came to rest, spent against him and he pulled her into the curve of his body and held her.

"Are you alright?" He whispered and by way of reply she moved to face him, crushing his mouth against hers and wrapping her arms around him. She lay back, pulling him with her until he was atop her, cradled between her thighs, kissing him desperately as though she would devour him.

He pushed her jumper up, made to pull it over her head and discard it, wanting nothing more than to take a bare nipple into his mouth, when a rush of fresh air filled the room.

The door swung open.

The both lay there, staring at it. He looked back at the young woman beneath him. His student, panting, post orgasmic and quite possibly the most erotic sight he had ever seen, even in her rumpled school robes and uniform. He looked back at the door and muttered; "Damn, damn damn damn damn damn."

Hermione could have cried. She wanted to tell him not to worry, she wanted to tell him that it was only a door and that they could just close it again and keep going. Her body was still aching, she was weak from orgasm and as he pushed himself up onto his haunches and stood, she slammed her hand against the floor in frustration.

He reached a hand down to her to help her up. The room smelled like Absinthe, burnt sugar and the feminine smell of Hermione's orgasm. He would never go into the room again without being able to detect that scent.

Ensuring she was standing and not about to topple over, he turned and swept wordlessly out of the room.

~ ~ ~

NOTES:

++ The recipe for Absinthe is correct, however I do not advise anyone try to make it as it dates back to 1903 and things were pretty hit and miss back then so it could do some terrible things to you.

The Green Fairy Absinthe references are from Dracula.

Much thanks to the English Patient for alerting me to the wonderfulness of the Supra Sternal notch.


	7. About Last Night

_Disclaimer: See prologue_

 **Chapter 5**

 **About Last night.**

6AM

Piers Tambling had worked as an apprentice at the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities for approximately one year. Having never dreamed of any particular career in his seven years at Hogwarts, Piers could not say that his position was one he particularly sort. The apprenticeship had been thrust upon him when his Father, concerned over his sons lack of prospects, had spoken to a friend at the Ministry and in turn, that friend had spoken to the Curator who had offered the job. Being taken on as the only apprentice to the Curator in fifty years was an honor Piers had never expected and was certainly not fool enough to reject. Not being known for his skill with a wand, Piers would have settled with working in any position that ensured extensive use of magic would not be called upon and as luck would have it, life in the Museum was quiet and not particularly challenging.

In his private thoughts, he believed that Curator Semeuse was particularly odd. The old man was fastidious in his own appearance and with the cleanliness of the exhibits. Semeuse had the strangest habit of talking to inanimate objects as though they were his pets and his favorite collection seemed to be one consisting of House Elves that had been taxidermised, probably because they looked as though they could talk back. Despite all of this, Piers thought he got along with the old man seeing him as somewhat wise and knowledgeable, like some kind of eccentric uncle. He made the decision when he had first arrived to do everything he was told and listen to the old man, convinced that if he did he would learn a lot.

Then the Ministry sent the Death Eaters for exhibition and things began to change.

Piers watched Semeuse become in turns agitated and excited at the prospect of a new collection. A live human collection at that. When they had arrived, the musty old House Elves were forgot and the Curators excitement reached fever pitch. The fastidious little man placed all his time and energy into setting up displays and cataloguing his new collection. He then set about ensuring that the temperatures and humidity were accurate, as though the Death Eaters were as precious as historical mummies from the dawn of civilization. He fawned over his prizes, seemingly unaware that they had once been the worst of all humanity.

Piers did not share his employers passion for the new exhibits. He found the Death Eaters creepy. They sat so silent and still, like giant dolls propped up in the window of a demonic toy store. That they were alive and in that state unnerved him. He hated having to help dress them, clean them and touch them. Their skin was warm when he reasoned it should feel cold and dead, their limbs were too supple, they smelled distinctly alive. It would be better if they were dead, that way he would feel less as though he was violating them in some way. He would leave food for them, right beside their hands and they never reached for it, but by morning it would be gone. If he did see them move he was sure he would be terrified by it.

Of course, along with the Death Eaters came the fanatics who wanted them dead or dismembered, or both! Thousands of threatening letters had poured in after The Daily Prophet had run the article about the exhibition. 'The Death Eaters should be destroyed,' the public cried, 'we will come and destroy them!' Semeuse had contacted the Ministry who had placed extra security on the Museum. Piers opinion was that, if people saw what had become of the Death Eaters, they would agree that they had indeed been destroyed.

At 6am on Tuesday morning he had awoken to sounds coming from the Sais room. He knew it was the Sais room even without climbing out of the warmth of his bed, instinct told him it had to be. That's where they were, and his bed chamber was right next door to it. He lay still, his ears straining for even the smallest of sounds. Surely the Curator would hear and go straight down, or the Aurors who had been posted at the doors of the Museum, but he heard nothing of them. No raised voices, just the initial sounds of cabinets being opened and then a strange scraping noise, like something being dragged away...or dragging itself away. Could that happen, could one of the Death Eaters have come to its senses and crawled away? He knew the answer was no, it was an impossibility given the nature of the Dementors Kiss. So someone was in there.

He waited, he knew it was too long, but he had never been brave. He had been a Hufflepuff at school and he had finished the year of the Tri Wizard Tournament. He remembered the Death of Cedric Diggory and had quickly learned to equate bravery with death. Harry Potter had faced the Dark Lord Voldemort and lived, but Piers Tambling was no Harry Potter, he just simply was not that kind of person. He would certainly not put himself at risk for the sake of a few mindless Death Eaters. So he waited until all the sounds had died away in the stillness of morning and silence again filled the Museum. Then he climbed from his bed, pulled on his robes and his slippers and headed out into the darkness of the Sais Room.

"Lumos" Each of the exhibit cases lit up for him and they stared back at him. Uncomprehending stares of the damned, he shuddered. He scanned each face, trying to see a difference in any of them and found none. Then he came to the last case, the biggest case, the case that held the worst of them all.

The case was empty. The door was opened and the case was empty. Piers felt his mouth run dry and a dull ache of panic formed deep in his gullet. Where had he gone? How did he get out? Common sense told him that Lucius Malfoy could not have got up and walked, it was an impossibility, but common sense played very little part in the cold dark of 6am in a room full of eerie staring Death Eaters. On top of everything else, he would have to go and tell the Curator that the most prized of his prized possessions was gone. The Curators interest in Lucius Malfoy had made the young man cringe when he first noticed it. Now that the Death Eater had gone he wondered just how the Curator would take the loss. Archibald Semeuse might be a fastidious man, but Piers was under no illusions when it came to how powerful the old Wizard was. Rumors about a rather dark youth abounded in the Museum; Piers didn't relish the task ahead.

He set out along the shadows of the corridors to the Curator's chambers and was surprised to see a light coming from within the room. So Semeuse was awake, perhaps he had heard the noise also. Piers was about to knock when he heard a voice within. The Curator's voice, talking softly but distinctly, groaning occasionally, as though in passion. Piers flattened himself against the wall and peered into the room.

His mouth fell open at the scene within.

Lucius Malfoy was sprawled on the bed, arms splayed out across the satin covers. The Curator had fanned the long blonde hair over the pillows, his face had been tilted up, thrown back a little, so that Piers had a perfect view of his profile. The white cotton shift in which Malfoy had been so carefully dressed in was pushed up above his waist and the Curator had mounted him. Piers watched in horror as the Curator stroked the still face gently with one hand, while the other pushed Malfoy's legs roughly back to allow for a deeper entry into his body .

"You like that?" Semeuse murmured to his victim, "You like that don't you my Angel?"

His 'Angel' said nothing, but had he been capable of speech, Piers had no doubt that the man would have screamed out 'NO!' The Curator had not been careful with him, his lust had caused him to push violently into the body and Malfoy's smooth thighs were streaked with blood. Piers fought the urge to vomit at the sight of the man he had considered his mentor, defiling the body of a man that was as good as dead.

Semeuse was kissing Malfoy now, whispering to his 'Angel' between feasting on his mouth. Piers felt his lip curl in disgust and before he knew what he was doing he had stepped from the shadows.

"Curator!" His voice was almost a sob such was his disgust.

Semeuse froze and turned his face to the young man who now stood in the door way glaring at him with such a look on his face. He felt himself flush. "Tampling," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. He looked down at his Angel and noticed with some dismay that Lucius was bleeding and made a mental note to be more careful in the future. He turned his face back to Tampling and wondered what he could say. He had no excuse for what he was doing, save for his own lusts and he doubted that Piers Tampling would understand them. He looked at the man. Little more than a boy really, not someone he wanted to be caught by, but surely one who would be easy to manipulate.

"You must stop this, Curator," Piers felt a rush of power over the old man. "This is unnatural, the Ministry will demand your resignation. You could go to prison!"

Semeuse looked back down at Lucius who was beautifully disheveled. There was a little blood in his hair, Semeuse would have to wash it. He smiled tenderly at his Angel before looking back at the boy. "I don't think we need talk about that sort of thing, Piers," he said calmly, "I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."

"Curator?"

Semeuse pulled out of Lucius and quickly wrapped his robes around himself. He pulled the shift down over Lucius' hips and gently stroked the legs as he closed them. "It has been a good many years since I was an apprentice, Piers" he said, standing up and stepping towards the boy, "but I remember that it was not the most enjoyable of positions. I can still remember just how frustrating it could be." He smiled thinly and picked lint from the shoulder of his robes, "I could advance your career considerably. Imagine that, you could be a Curator yourself in a few short years with my help. Your family would be so proud."

Piers took a step back, his eyes shifting from the Curator to the Death Eater sprawled in the bed. He remembered Draco Malfoy from School, a nasty piece of work who loved to throw curses at people when the teachers weren't looking. Snape's pet. He looked just like his Father. He had even met Lucius once, if one could consider it a meeting. He had bumped into him in Diagon Alley once when he was buying school supplies and Malfoy had muttered something about half bloods polluting the streets. So why should he care about what the Curator was doing? Malfoy had probably performed acts that were far worse in his career.

The answer was simple, seven years at Hogwarts under Dumbledore had instilled an innate sense of decency in him. This was just plain wrong.

"I am not interested in what you can do for me..." he stuttered, "You are raping this man simply because he can't defend himself."

"Rape is such a harsh word, Piers, and I can assure you I am not simply taking advantage of him. We have no idea of his opinion of this is, do we? He might enjoy it."

"You're sick!" Piers cried, unable to contain his disgust. "You sick bastard!"

"Now now, boy, there is no need for this. Think about it. I have been in this position for over 50 years, I highly doubt that the Ministry will believe the upstart pretensions of a boy who wants my job."

"But I don't care about your job!"

"Of course you do."

"I...I don't. I'm going to the Aurors! I…I…I'm going to tell them what you've done. I'm going to make sure you never see this museum again!" He turned to walk away, shaken but strangely proud of himself. It was the first moment of bravery in his life.

Archibald Semeuse looked from Tampling's retreating form to the Angel lying prone in the bed and felt everything he had worked for slipping from his grasp. It was his Museum, he had assembled every collection in it. Everything belonged to him and no one else. The upstart, Tampling had threatened that. The upstart had to be stopped. There was only one course of action left open to him.

"Avada Kedavra." Semeuse muttered the curse so softly that Piers Tampling could never have heard it. Tampling heard a rush of the curse coming to him and didn't have time to so much as turn to see what it was. He hit the floor with a thud, having never known what hit him.

Semeuse walked to the body and nudged it with his toe. "It is a shame," he said a little sadly, "you really would have made a good curator one day, but I should have told you, no one ever takes my collections from me or me from my collections." He turned back to Lucius and smiled warmly at the figure whose eyes had closed. He wished for a moment that he had seen it happen, he so would have loved to witness the movement. Semeuse then rolled Piers Tampling's body over and stared into the slightly surprised face. "The Angel is mine, I will brook no threats from silly little boys on that count," he hissed.

After contemplating the situation for a moment, he decided that the mummification room needed a new addition.

~

Hermione sprawled head long behind a suit of armour and vomited onto the stone floor. It felt marvelous, like the release of some crushing pressure, like a vial green poison flooding out of her system. She felt her palms connecting with cool stone and energy coursed through her in convulsive waves.

 _Oh Gods this is awful._

Snape. She had been kissing Snape! Less than half an hour ago he had made her come. She had been brought to orgasm by his hand. Then he had left her there, cold, alone and overwhelmingly drunk, which in turn had lead to this terrible journey through the castle to the Southwest Tower and the wonderful prospect of bed and the hope of oblivion from the events of the night. So far she had made it as far as the Charms corridor, which wasn't so bad. She was at least in the vague vicinity of the tower.

When she was able to raise her head she saw that she was being observed by Lavender, who was staring at her as though she was some interesting, but faintly repulsive bug. Hermione crawled away from the sticky puddle and sat shakily against the wall.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked, disgusted at the taste in her mouth and that someone had been there to witness the display.

"I couldn't sleep", Lavender replied and reached her hand to help Hermione to her feet. "Are you ok?"

Hermione scrambled to her feet, "I'm fine" she slurred, spitting bile ungraciously onto the floor, "I just need some sleep."

Lavender contemplated her room mate, unsure of what tactic to use in dealing with her. She had never considered Hermione Granger a friend. Hermione had always been Ron and Harry's friend, and while Harry and Ron were somewhat endearing, (Harry being, well, Harry, and Ron being a bit of a flirt ), Hermione had never really possessed the qualities that drew people to her and Lavender, along with many others, always believed that there was something in Hermione's manner that mocked them. The girl was just so good at everything and she had the annoying habit of looking at those who weren't so very brilliant as though they were, in fact, stupid. Which wasn't the case.

Lavender was not particularly knowledgeable when it came to school. Her aims at Hogwarts had been simple, get through with a good understanding of magic and get a decent job at the end of it. Hermione's fervor for learning and perfection and the sheer pride she showed when she displayed her abilities were nothing short of irritating and had lead many to avoid her. She had no interest in the things that most of the girls had been interested in. Dating, hair care, makeup, clothes, none of these things entered Hermione Grangers sphere. When she had turned up with Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball, Lavender had nearly fallen off her chair in shock. It had been decided long ago that it would be better to simply leave her to her books and her study and forget just how accomplished the Muggle Born Witch was.

So it was really a shock to find her disheveled and being sick in the charms corridor, reeking of alcohol and the unmistakable musky undertone of sex. There was a rather large love bite on the girls' neck. Dismissing any hesitation, Lavender slid her arm around Hermione's waist and began to pull her along in the direction of the Tower.

~

They were lined up across a field like an old fashioned army. They had kept him at the back because they needed him to live long enough to kill the Dark Lord and he knew that he would live. He had to. After Voldemort was dead he could die, he was supposed to. He knew it, deep inside, he had to die by the end of all this. They wouldn't mourn him; if he died they could immortalize him as legend.

They stood still in their lines, staring expectantly across the field at the absent enemy, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before they came. A thousand Death eaters descending from the sky on winged horses as black as night like stampeding nightmares. They carried Staffs. Harry had never seen one before, but they were powerful and they tore flesh and bone to shreds as the Death Eaters began to pick them off from the safety of the skies.

The method of attack was unexpected and they began to scatter. Charlie Weasley was telling him to run. He really needed to run, he had to hide. He had to survive. He had to get back to the school and the apparent safety of the stone and mortar that could weather this storm.

The field, he realized dully was the Quidditch pitch, but the hoops and boxes were gone.

He had to get back to the school.

"Harry, RUN!"

He looked at Charlie but his legs wouldn't work, he couldn't move, even when Charlie's face distorted and seemed to detach from his head some how and travel, the _expression still fixed, straight into Harry's own face and hit him with a sound like wet meat.

Then he was being picked up and carried away by one of the black riders and Snape looked at him from under the black hood.

"Don't forget to scream," said Snape.

Harry screamed. Harry screamed and sat bolt upright in the half light. Morning. A dream ( _a memory_ ), it was only a dream (a memory). He began to shiver as the sweat cooled on his body.

"Lumos." He had woken Ron who stirred and mumbled for light. He pushed himself up and looked at Harry who was sitting half naked in the bed across from him. "Bad dream?" He yawned.

"Yeah, sorry, it was just a dream" ( _a memory_ ).

"You seriously need to start taking dreamless sleep potions before you go to bed. Dumbledore said you could."

Harry shrugged. He knew he should, but he had a terror of being unable to wake if he needed to.

"Um, Harry, mate." Ron grinned, "Your giving me a bit too much information here."

He looked down the length of his body to where the bedclothes didn't quite cover his modesty and pulled his blankets up self consciously. "Thanks," he mumbled. But Ron was looking past him now. Looking at the wall behind him with a face set in something that could have been horror or wonder or both.

Harry turned to see what Ron was seeing and saw the contract. It was exactly as they had left it the day before, with one very major exception. Harry and Ron's rose bushes were still shamefully nude of flowers. Hermione's, on the other hand, had sprouted a tiny pink rosebud.

"I thought it was supposed to be a full flower," Ron said, eyes not leaving the tiny blot of color.

"It is," Harry replied, eyes fixed to the same spot, "maybe she didn't go the whole way."

They continued to stare, wondering who in hell Hermione had been with, why she hadn't told them about him and just when she had found the time to do it. They really had to talk to the girl.

~

Draco Malfoy was lost in the pleasure of the most vivid early morning masturbation session that he'd had in years. His breathing was heavy and labored, his hand working vigorously over his erection and his eyes firmly shut, conjuring in his minds eye the image of the person who had induced his current state.

Potter. Potter who'd had the audacity to not only kiss him but to then turn and run like a thief in the night. Potter who had eyes like fanciful jewels and a tongue that tasted like cinnamon sticks and cauldron cakes. In his imaginings, Potter was doing a hell of a lot more than kissing him. Draco had an excellent fantasy life, he could picture every inch of that flesh, imagine the way that body would move, how his mouth would feel wrapped around…

"Ohhhhhh, Harry." His hips bucked up into his hands and he was thankful, not for the first time, that he had his own room.

Draco had never been with a man before, but this did not mean that he was adverse to the idea of it. The opportunity had simply never arisen. He had been sexually active since he was fifteen and women were never really a problem for him. He had been raised with the simple motto of pleasure for pleasures sake.

Draco smiled and began to work himself a little harder. Potter was not beautiful, he had the most wonderful set of eyes Draco had ever seen and he had filled out nicely as he got older, being trim but somehow stocky. Potter was not particularly tall but neither was he horribly short. From all accounts he had a similar stature to his Father, James Potter and looked like him in the same way that Draco resembled his own Father. Potter was, however, the hero of the wizarding world. He had brought down everything that Draco had once held sacred. The very idea of his worlds hero, sucking a Malfoy cock was quite simply too delicious to pass up. He could see Potter doing it too, those pink lips parting, the emerald eyes closing...

He could feel his body cresting, aching for release. It was as though he was tapped into some incredible energy source, building power up inside his belly and he began to whimper softly, "Harry…Harry…"

In his mind's eye, all sexual activity ceased and he was left with only a memory. The memory of Potters hand splayed out across his chest and that first moment when Draco had nudged those perfect lips apart and tasted the inside of Harry's mouth.

"Oh Gods, Harry".

Harry closed his eyes when he kissed, Harry had plunged his hands into Draco's hair, Harry had trembled when he had met his tongue.

"Oh, oh, oh Gods…HARRRRYYYYYYYYY." He came in thick bursts into his hand, and, breathing heavily, he settled, his hips came to rest and a feeling of sleepy satisfaction washed over him like rain. His eyes blinked open.

"Fucking hell, Potter" he said to the stars he had charmed to appear on his ceiling.

He lifted his hand and surveyed its coating of seamen. Frowning a little he sniffed it and then licked it tentatively, tasting his own seed. It wasn't awful. A little bitter but then, so was he. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at his now sticky belly and wondered if her could indeed do it. Since the trials he had not made an attempt to seduce anyone and with good reason. Some scars will never heal and he had his own to make him self conscious enough about taking a new lover. Add to that the prospect of that lover being Potter and he knew he was treading on dangerous ground indeed. He never could abide the idea of rejection and he had never tasted it before, he wasn't planning on starting now. Wiping what was left of the seamen across his chest, he decided he really needed a shower.

~

BREAKFAST

Harry stared at his breakfast with total disinterest. He was tired, his dreams were beginning to disturb his sleep beyond measure and now he had added a new and wholly unimagined problem to what was becoming an ever increasing list.

Draco Malfoy.

He had kissed Draco Malfoy.

Truth be told he had more than simply kissed Draco Malfoy. He had feasted on those perfect lips and stuck his tongue right in Malfoy's mouth! By the Gods, if Ron knew where his tongue had been, he would cut the offending appendage out of Harry's head and burn it. That was, of course, after he had come to terms with the fact that Harry, his best friend and room mate of seven and a bit years, had kissed another man.

So what happened today? Did Malfoy waltz into the Great Hall, smile his biggest shit eating smile and tell all and sundry that the Famous Harry Potter was a stark raving homosexual who had molested him only last night?

Harry could hear him now, drawling the awful truth out to anyone who would listen; "Oh yeah, stuck his tongue right down my throat, fucking faggot."

Harry shuddered…

But Malfoy had kissed him back.

Had he? Yes, yes he had! Harry was certain of it. Draco's hands had caressed their way up his back, Draco's tongue had explored the cavern of his mouth. Harry had to stop thinking about this right now before he became any more aroused.

Aroused? Aroused! Oh Gods he was sitting at breakfast and he was aroused!

He looked around hoping no one was looking at him and was dismayed when Lavender caught his eye and smiled. She headed over to them and began her story of finding Hermione drunk and vomiting in the charms corridor earlier that morning. He knew he should be far more interested by this news than he was, but he was too busy contemplating dropping a jug of iced water in his lap.

Ron stared to say something about Hermione, he got as far as, "What would Herm…" Then he stopped mid sentence and didn't bother to hide the look of utter disdain that crossed his face. Harry looked at him, not daring to turn around. Ron had the face on that he reserved for one person and one person only and that could only mean one thing. Harry felt the bench move beside him as someone sat down on his other side and he froze, hoping against hope that somehow, Hermione had woken up completely sober and recovered after only an hours sleep and had come down to breakfast. Of course, that was not possible, he could see a few of the girls of various houses looking at their table with eyes full of childish adoration and there was only one person who created that kind of look amongst so many young girls. He turned his head slowly.

Malfoy. No, Draco. No, Malfoy.

Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck.

~

Breakfast had never been Severus Snape's favored meal of the day. It was far too early to be confronted with the smiling faces and inane chatter of 1200 students, which, when all put together, came out as a dull roar that attacked the senses. Today was far worse than most and he asked himself why he had bothered. The answer was horribly simple. He wanted to see if she came down.

Looking at the large serve of bacon, fried eggs, fried tomatoes and sausages that Minerva was piling onto his plate, he felt the urge to gag. She added toast for good measure despite his weak protestations not to. If she added kippers he would throw up on top of it all.

Now that would be something they'd all remember.

She didn't add kippers and he thanked heavens for small mercies. He reached for his coffee with shaking hands.

"You need to eat something," Minerva said, pursing her lips in a way she hoped looked stern and tried to suppress a snigger. "Greasy food will help to settle your stomach."

"I don't think I could..."

"Eat," she said ominously, looking at him in a remarkably motherly way, "or I will spoon feed you."

He forked bacon into his mouth and set about forcing his jaw to work on chewing.

~

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron spat, "Isn't this the time you usually jerk off in the bath?"

Malfoy smiled pleasantly and said; "Not this morning, Weasel, I had good reason to jerk off a little earlier than usual today. Pass the toast please, Harry."

He pronounced Harry's name very distinctly and Harry blushed pink. He passed the toast to Draco without looking at him.

"Thank you, Harry."

Harry ventured a peek in the blonde's direction, only to find Draco staring openly at him. When Harry looked, Draco offered up a dazzling smile. The one that had been known to make girls go weak at the knees. Harry felt a little giddy at the ridiculousness of the situation that had him sneaking looks at Draco Malfoy and having Draco Malfoy give him that smile. He quickly turned back to Ron and the comfortable speculation about the identity of Hermione's mystery man, all too aware of the blonde eating his breakfast by his side.

~

"Honestly Severus, you should know better than to drink that much on a school night."

Nod. Chew.

Hermione hadn't come down and he doubted that she would. He cast a glance over to their table and saw Draco sitting in Miss Granger's usual place. That was odd, but he felt far too terrible to actually speculate or even care. If the girl knew what was good for her she would spend the entire day in bed and sleep it off.

"Did you take a hangover potion?"

Nod. Chew.

"And?"

He forced the over masticated food down his throat. "I feel better than I did."

"This is better?"

"Yes"

"Merlin's Balls, Severus! How much did you drink?"

The answer was obvious. "Too much" he mumbled. He decided he would send Hermione a potion to take as soon as she woke up, with sleep and the potion he could at least ensure that she was in a better state than he was.

Maybe he could stomach toast. He took a bite and immediately wished that he hadn't. The forced chewing began again and he pushed the plate away and lovingly picked up his coffee with shaking hands.

"That," said Minerva, indicating the cup, "is not going to help."

~

Owls started to descend from the rafters with the morning post and Harry was filled with a familiar feeling of apprehension. He had never liked the morning post. Despite having no one left to lose he still watched the owls descend with a sense of dread. Hedwig circled down to him, competing with pig for the fastest decent, using her wings to create enough wind to push the tiny owl back.

They were both cut off by a giant Ministry Owl who swooped past and to Harry's horror came straight for him. It couldn't be for him. What could they possibly want from him? The owl landed, not in front of Harry, but Draco beside him. It waited patiently for the letter to be detached from its' leg before launching itself back into flight.

Draco turned the letter over in his hands. He recognized the seal and ascertained that it wasn't a Howler. Why would the Ministry be writing to him? Did they want more money for his parent's upkeep? He had already sent clothes, blankets, travel expenses for this awful side show of an exhibition and he had paid the annual levy that he could only hope ensured they would both be fed. What could the Ministry want now? He sighed and opened the letter.

 _'Dear Mr. Malfoy,  
We regret to inform you that due to an unforeseen packing error, your mother, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, has died in transit from Azkaban Prison to the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities in London. The immediate removal of the body from the museum is therefore required. If you do not wish to take possession of the body, the Ministry of Magic will arrange for the interment of the body at Azkaban Prison at a cost of 80 Galleons.  
Please contact the Ministry of Magic within five days of receiving this notice to make the necessary arrangements.  
Our condolences  
Anya Zohar  
Secretary  
Ministry of Magic.'_

Draco stared at the letter for the longest time. Sounds around him seemed to diminish and become nothing at all. He saw nothing, everything ceased to exist in that moment. The only thing that did exist was the letter in front of him. It remained constant and in focus, the occasional word becoming bolder than the others. Springing out at him as if to reiterate themselves to him. Narcissa, Died, Interment, Body.

He folded the letter, slowly and deliberately and placed it in his pocket. He then drew a deep breath, pushed himself away from the table and turned to walk out of the hall with long measured strides.

~  
Continued...


	8. About Last Night Part 2

_From Part 1..._

Harry watched Draco go, wondering what had been in the letter. He pushed his copy of the Daily Prophet aside to read later and laughed dutifully when Ron called merrily after Draco's retreating back, "Bad news then?"

He had three letters of his own. One from Lupin, one from Tonks and one from Moody. All were along a similar line. Why hadn't he written to them? Was he all right? Did he need to talk about anything? He did need to write back to all of them. He figured that he should think himself lucky that they were still interested in his welfare at all.

He was aware of Ron laughing about something and decided not to take an interest. If it was important he had no doubt he would find out what it was very soon. Instead he focused on Lavender making her way up to the teachers table to inform the Professors that Hermione was 'sick'. 'Gods, Snape looked bad,' he thought and wondered, with a momentary sense of elation, if it was life threatening.

~

Snape really should never have allowed himself to crow so loud over Slytherin being ahead in the Quidditch cup this year because Minerva was taking great pleasure in torturing him. Evil Witch.

He willed her to shut up but knew Minerva McGonagall well enough than to think that she would. Oh no, Minerva was only just warming up and once she was warm, well, he may as well die because he wasn't going to get peace any other way.

His head was pounding and if he was honest he would have to admit that he was probably still drunk. He hadn't slept, he had bathed but he could still smell Hermione on him, he could still taste her. It had been far too long since he had been with a woman. So long in fact that he had done the unthinkable and taken advantage of a student. A student who was well and truly above the age of consent, but a student none the less. That was unforgivable and he could only hope she wouldn't go straight to Dumbledore and make a complaint against him. He had got the poor girl drunk and molested her! How could he possibly have allowed it to happen? If Dumbledore found out he would be out of Hogwarts faster than he could say 'Absinthe'.

It would never happen again. Not that there was any chance that it would. Miss Granger (and she was Miss Granger and not Hermione) would no doubt wake up and wish she was dead when she recalled what had happened. It really was the stuff of nightmares. He had no idea how to stop her from going to Dumbledore. Would she go to Dumbledore? She had seemed to enjoy it last night.

 _Enjoy it? What are you thinking you fool? She was so drunk she had no idea what she was doing!_

He couldn't think straight in this state. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to have Minerva shut up and leave him alone. He wanted nothing more than to not have Lavender Brown heading in his direction. It seemed he wanted a lot.

"Heads up, Severus." Minerva was saying, "Here comes Miss Brown, time to put your face on."

He scowled at her.

"Yes, that's the one."

He took another mouthful of coffee, his shaking hands seemed to be getting worse not better. This really was not going to be a good day.

~

Lavender eyed the Professors tentatively and smiled her prettiest smile. She knew it didn't work on Snape, but McGonagall had warmed to it over the years.

"Good Morning Miss Brown." McGonagall said cheerfully. Snape barely managed to grunt at her. He really didn't look so good. Not that he ever did, but today he looked awful. Really awful. Worse than ever, if that was possible. He didn't look so much sick as, well, hung over to high hell. Like Hermione had first thing this morning.

Like Hermione.

She almost felt the light bulb go on in her head and fairly gaped at the foul Potions Master. It wasn't possible, of course. Hermione Granger was never going to win any competitions in the Snape's favorite category. But she could distinctly smell the faint scent of the same alcohol that Hermione had positively reeked of. Snape had obviously had a bath, but she could still detect it. Lavender's sense of smell was legend, she planned to make Perfumes and Scents when she finished school. She could also detect the same undercurrent of sex that had been coming off Hermione in waves. That was interesting, very interesting indeed.

She almost laughed out loud, and she had no doubt that she would have had the whole idea of it not been so absurd. Hermione and Snape? Who would have ever thought it? More importantly, how on earth had it happened?

"Miss Brown?" McGonagall was looking at her questioningly, pulling her attention away from the Potions Master who had started to glower a little under her scrutiny.

"Oh, yes, Sorry." She offered her smile again, "I just wanted to let you know that Hermione Granger," she looked pointedly at Snape, trying to see if he reacted at all, "is sick and won't be in class today."

"Oh my," McGonagall said, "I hope she's all right."

The end of her sentence was drowned out in Snape's reaction. Lavender managed to jump back only a split second too late. Snape dropped the coffee cup and it smashed on the top of the heavy oak table. Lavender was least affected, only being caught by some of its contents. Snape and McGonagall, on the other hand, were covered in it.

McGonagall's mouth thinned, but Lavender saw something akin to laughter dance across her face. Snape was staring at the table, completely unable to comprehend that he had dropped the cup and doused the three of them in coffee. Then the smell hit him. The smell of coffee and congealing fat from breakfast. He dry retched and Lavender stepped back a little further from the table. Even McGonagall pushed her chair back away.

Snape's hand flew to his mouth. "IthinkI'mgonnathrowup!" He dry retched again and fled out the door behind him.

The Great Hall was silent. You could have heard a pin drop as everyone stared at the now vacated seat. Now that was something you didn't see everyday. The room remained in its apparent silent spell until the unmistakable sound of Ron Weasley's voice broke it.

"Well, Harry, looks like your out of Potions for the day."

Minerva couldn't help it. She stared to laugh.

~

Potions was indeed cancelled and while the school rejoiced in the fact that Snape had taken his first sick day in some 17 years, Harry spent the time he would normally spend in double potions sitting in the library avoiding his own troubled thoughts as he had been doing every day since the war ended. He had declined an offer of going to a 'study group' with Ginny and Luna, knowing that the study group would consist of the three of them drinking cheap illicit wine and the girls trying to get him to kiss them. He had decided that he really did need to at least try and get his head around his Potions work and he didn't want the girls to know he was really struggling with it.

They were up to the Tria Prima.

'Alchemy focuses on identifying and purifying the Tria Prima, the three principles of soul, spirit and body - represented by sulphur, mercury and salt. The processes used in the purification of the mage. The search for the elusive substance, the Philosophers Stone, which is said to both transmute base metals into gold and to be the elixir of immortality, signifies the Alchemists goal of achieving union with the divine.'

He really didn't get it, and he should, considering he had actually held a Philosophers Stone in his hand. Union with the divine? If Snape had union with the divine, Harry would eat Hedwig. He just wanted to learn to make potions so that he could get into school to begin Auror training. The prospect of three more years school was terrifying. He groaned. He would be in his twenties before he even got a job, if he got a job at all. The added fact that they might not accept him at the end of it didn't inspire him with confidence, but it was all that kept him going most days. He really had to pass this subject.

Deciding that he really needed to wait until Hermione was around, he put the Potions work away and pulled out the Daily Prophet from his bag and scanned the news. It had been a long time since he had considered the Daily Prophet to be a reliable source of news, but he scanned it out of habit, in much the same way as he had when he would hide in the Dursley's garden with it.

An article on the Death Eaters exhibition headlined the front page. It appeared that the Museum had received threats from disgruntled victims of Voldemort and his followers who wanted blood and were prepared to use the exhibition as a chance to get it. It would open in London in two weeks where it would stay until after Christmas, then it would go on tour around England and then Europe and would end some time in May.

It was scheduled to reach Hogsmeade on February 20th. Harry doubted Ron would wait that long. He was planning to get a camera from Fred and George to take Photographs of the Malfoy's with which to torture Draco. Harry had mixed feelings about the exhibition. Dumbledore called it a travesty. Lupin, in his letter referred to it as a 'carnival of human misery' and yet Harry found himself oddly fascinated by it. He didn't want to go, but something drew his interest. He had never seen someone after the Dementors' Kiss. The idea of it horrified him, the living dead, no thoughts, no memory, no nothing. Just an existence, uncomprehending existence. He wondered if they would look dead, he wanted to see if they did.

The story went on to tell of deaths. Three Death Eaters had died when they had suffocated on their way to the exhibition. Narcissa Malfoy's name caught his eye. One of the three. He remembered Draco's sudden retreat from the hall and the official letter from the Ministry and it all suddenly made sense. His Mother was dead.

Harry's only real memory of Narcissa Malfoy had been of a haughty woman who was remarkably pretty except for a look as though she had a perpetual bad smell under her nose. He had once accused Draco of being that bad smell, it seemed so long ago now, like a different age. Narcissa had been Sirius' cousin, just as Draco was Tonks cousin. Harry very much doubted that Draco had ever met Isadora Tonks and for the briefest of moments he fantasized about introducing them one day.

He wondered how Draco was taking the death. He hadn't been in transfigurations and Harry hadn't seen him anywhere when he discovered that Potions was cancelled. Harry now doubted that he would turn up for Defense against the Dark Arts this afternoon, which would leave Harry partnerless and he would probably end up with Ginny because Hermione was ill. It was not a prospect he relished. Ginny spent the last year being in turns hot and cold to him. She had asked him to the Study Group and he had said no, this was obviously a personal rejection and she had glared at him with those accusing eyes she had, as though he had done her wrong by not being able to make 'them' work. He didn't want to be landed with that whilst trying to duel with her.

Perhaps he could skive off sick himself, but he knew he couldn't because it would lead to too many questions and he didn't want Ron accusing him of avoiding his sister. It didn't help that the only person he really wanted to see was the one person he couldn't. He had hoped Draco would go to class and they could perhaps talk. But talk about what? The fact that Harry had kissed him? The fact that he had kissed Harry back? The whole subject seemed a little stupid.

Harry realized, with some dismay that he was doing the very thing he had been trying to avoid. Thinking.

Was he making too much of the kiss? It was, after all, just a kiss and for all her knew, Draco could go around kissing people all the time. He did have a certain reputation after all and it had to originate somewhere. Harry could just be another in a long line of people who threw themselves at the Ice Prince (yes, that was a name he had heard some girl call Draco, Ron had laughed his ass off at that one). He wondered how many people he kissed back though. Was it many? Probably.

He was grateful when the halls echoed with the hollow sound of a bell that indicated the end of the lesson. He stuffed the paper into his bag and headed out to the greenhouses for Herbology.

~

Draco had dealt with the news of his Mothers' death in the only way he knew how. He had returned to his room, smashed a Muggle snow cone that she had brought him from South Sea beach when he was five and when he couldn't repair it he had screamed in frustration. He then calmed himself, forced himself to breath, straighten his robes, smoothed his hair and sat down to write a letter to his God Father telling him the news and asking him to take care of the arrangements as he really didn't think he could. A quick trip to the owlery was then taken and upon returning to his room he collected his work for study, and three decent bottles of gin, deciding not to attend lessons but realizing that he shouldn't allow himself to get behind. He settled in front of the fire in the common room to read up on Transfigurations while attempting to get himself mind numbingly drunk.

~

Hermione slept late into the day, aided by a mild sleeping charm that lavender had thoughtfully cast, and her own exhaustion from the night before. Crookshanks had attempted to wake her on two occasions, head butting her face and uttering a few plaintive 'meows' at her sleeping form. After failing to get a response he gave up and instead, curled into a ball and slept for a few hours beside his mistress.

Some time after two Crookshanks had been stirred by a scratching at the window. Upon rising his head to inspect the source, he was confronted by the staring face of a large Eagle Owl, who hooted indignantly at him. Crookshanks had ignored the bird and it continued to scratch until, finally, it got the better of him. He woke up, stretched, eyed the bird and leapt at the window pane.

Hermione woke to a stand-off between the bird and her orange cat. Crookshanks whined at the bird who glared back imperiously from outside in the snow and hooted out a stream of what Hermione was sure was owl speak for a number of rather nasty expletives. Hermione would have seen the funny side of the situation had her head not been pounding as though someone had cast the Cruciatus Curse inside her skull.

"Crookshanks, get down!" she snapped and winced as here own voice reverberated around her head. She struggled to the window and pulled Crookshanks out of the way before opening the window.

The owl eye balled the cat and flew down to the bed side table. Hermione went to untie the little package attached to its leg, but it pulled away from her and distinctly looked her up and down with a look of disdain.

'My God, I am being assessed by an owl,' she muttered, reaching for the package again. The owl hooted and stuck it's leg out, turning its head away as though it really didn't like what it saw. She untied the package and unwrapped it. It contained a small potions bottle and a note which read simply, "Drink me, you'll feel better."

She recognized Snape's' hand writing and drank the bottles contents. The effect was instantaneous, her head cleared and she felt fantastic. He was good, he was very very good. She turned to thank the owl, but it glared at her and took flight.

Memories of the previous night came flooding back to her. Drinking. Drinking a lot. How much had she had to drink? Enough to make her flirtatious, so it had to be a lot. She was renown for being a terrible prude, even when she was very drunk. She had become far more than flirtatious, she had become positively wanton. With Snape! Of all men! Snape, who never looked at anyone except to find fault and who, she had been certain, had never looked at her except to find a blemish. Greasy, vile, disgusting, Snape. What had she been thinking? Well, she hadn't been thinking, that was ultimately the crux of it. She hadn't been thinking because she was far too busy kissing him! Kissing him, rocking against him, coming when he had put his fingers inside her.

"Oh My God," she said, realization dawning on her, "he was bloody brilliant!"

She was suddenly filled with an incredible feeling of triumph. She had confronted the malevolent Potions Master and elicited passion. She had caused him to respond to her in ways that she would never have thought he could respond. In the entire of her time at Hogwarts, there had never been so much as a whisper of Snape ever having had a lover, a wife, a human thought. He could have been a virgin for all she knew, although the idea seemed preposterous, he knew where to put his fingers, he knew exactly the right places and found them deftly, so he must have had some experience. She had made him talk to her as more than a foolish student, she had made him laugh! At that she felt all the pride of a conquering monarch. He was a country and she had invaded and won.

But he had recovered and left her there in the end.

But he had given her more than he could ever have wanted to.

She smiled at the memory of his lips against her throat and the way he murmured softly into the flesh behind her ear in a voice that was rich and erotic. She felt herself become wet and laughed at her own shock. She had managed to do the impossible, she was wet and thinking about Snape, two things that she would never believe would go together in the same thought.

~

Draco had well and truly settled himself in front of the fire and had already finished one bottle of gin and was half way through the second when Hermione, bathed and dressed, walked into the common room. She surveyed him silently, noticing the empty bottle and the half empty one beside him. He didn't look drunk at all, and that was a little frightening to her. He was taking up the entire fire place and therefore the very place she had planned to settle herself with her Arithmancy homework. It looked as though he had every one of his school books out for study and she wondered why he wasn't in class as he was supposed to be.

"Do you have to take up the entire floor?" she asked irritably and he lifted his head. He hadn't realized she was there. He was wearing a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, two articles of clothing she would never have wagered him owning let alone wearing. He also wore glasses, thin platinum framed ones that were narrow ovals and obviously expensive. She wondered how such a nasty piece of work could look like Draco Malfoy, was it some kind of cosmic joke that someone who looked that good could be that bad? The same could be said of his Father, but she shuddered at the notion. Whilst she could admit that Draco looked good, she would rather not think about Lucius Malfoy in those terms.

"I didn't realize anyone else was here," he said, not moving an inch.

"Why aren't you in class?"

"I could ask the same of you."

She shuffled nervously. "I was sick," she said defensively, folding her arms across her chest.

"Really?" He drawled, "I thought you were passed out blind drunk in the charms corridor."

She paled. Did the whole school know? She stared at him and covering her embarrassment shoved him. "Move over," she muttered, "you're hogging the heat."

He sighed dramatically and began to move his books and papers. She sat down before he had a chance to finish, kicking his work perilously close to the fire and he angrily gathered the papers up in no particular order. Under the pretext of getting closer to the fire, she moved closer to him, invading his personal space more from a desire to annoy him than from any real attraction.

"You drink too much." She pointed disapproving at the bottle, "you drink so much you don't even get drunk any more."

"Well, firstly, you can talk Miss 'I threw up all over the school this morning' and secondly, I'm not getting drunk because it appears Snape found my supply and has spiked it all with an alcohol evaporation potion. There isn't enough alcohol content in this to get a house elf drunk."

At Snape's name her interest piqued. "Why would he do that?"

"Misplaced sense of parental obligation."

She frowned, it made no sense. "Why are you still drinking it?"

"I'm hoping for a placebo effect." He turned his attention back to his study, determined to ignore her and she used the opportunity to do what so many girls in the school would love to do, she had a really good look at him. He was as beautiful as Snape was ugly. Of course, she was in the process of re-evaluating Snape's beauty, but the old comparison still sprang to mind. He was slim, but not too thin. From the well toned arms that emerged from the sleeves of his T-shirt it appeared that he was constructed of a mass of long lean muscles. He was looking a little scruffy these days and if anything, it made him look better. She had grown up with him looking perfectly polished and refined, now that he had relaxed and allowed himself to look more natural he was managing to set many hearts a flutter. He had gone from an elegantly carved beauty to a bit of a sex symbol. Apparently some of the first and second years even had a fan club going. Colin had told her about it. They asked him if he had any pictures of Draco and he was subsequently making a killing with reprints of old Slytherin Quidditch shots.

He moved into a more comfortable position and she admired the way his limbs moved, he seemed quite comfortable being Draco Malfoy.

"Are you quite finished perving at me?" He asked after a time.

"I'm just taking the opportunity to get a good look at you," she replied easily, "usually at this proximity you are throwing a curse at me, I don't usually get a chance to have a decent look."

He surprised her by laughing. "Like what you see?" He asked and stretched his arms out dramatically so that she could see all of him.

"Not bad, nice bum."

"Thanks" He smiled to himself, "Now stop staring, you'll make me self conscious."

"You?" she scoffed, "Never!"

He laughed and shrugged and she was surprised again when she realized he was a little embarrassed. Wonders would never cease. For a moment she wondered if she had woken up in some kind of alternate reality where Snape was a sex god and Malfoy was civil. He had gone back to his workbook and was slowly re-absorbing himself in it.

"What are you studying?" She asked before he could become too immersed.

"Transfigurations," he murmured, not wanting to be distracted further.

"Was the class good today?"

"I don't know," he replied, "I wasn't in it."

"Why didn't you go? You can't just not go to class because you didn't feel like it."

He put the book down and glared at her, "considering your own excuse for not going is fairly lame, I don't think you have a right to comment, I have never not been in class because I went on a bender the night before."

She felt her face go pink, "I think we have all ascertained that I did a bad thing, my question was why _you_ weren't in class today."

He sighed and became annoyed, "Not that it is any of your business, but I got a letter from the Ministry informing me that my Mother has died and I really didn't feel like attending classes today. Is that a satisfactory answer?"

She paled and averted her eyes and felt awful, "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't know, I'm so sorry."

He shrugged, "Shit happens, she is probably better off now anyway." He could not keep the bitterness from his voice and he took another mouthful from the bottle of gin and returned to his book.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was becoming obvious that he wasn't going to get anything done with her sitting there. He looked at her and wondered why in hell she wanted to talk with him anyway. "Now why would a mud blood like yourself care about how I feel about the death of Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Don't call me that," she said, "I've done nothing to provoke you. Why do you push people away when they try and take an interest in you?"

He surveyed her coolly. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might not want you to take an interest in me? I have no interest in you, you're a know it all mudblood bitch who gets off on the idea of being the smartest witch to come through here in a century and is best friend to Weasel, who if you hadn't noticed, is the bane of my life."

"You forgot Harry," she said bitterly

"Harry." He repeated the name almost absently and then coming to himself he said, "Harry doesn't count."

Hermione frowned. "Did you just call him Harry?"

Draco flushed red.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Oh," she said, and then the full implications hit her, "oh!"

It's not what you think," he said quickly.

"Ok." She was a little stunned. Draco liked Harry. Draco really liked Harry. She wondered if Harry knew about it. She was damn sure Ron didn't because if he did it would be all over the school by now and probably waving above the Quidditch pitch on 20 foot banners.

"He... he piqued my interest."

"Oh?" Was he going to talk? Her curiosity was burning. Had Harry actually done something to create this?

"He..." Draco smiled, he really wasn't with her at that moment, it was a mischievous smile, far away, remembering something. He snapped back to present. "Have you managed the animal transfigurations yet?" He asked suddenly, changing the topic and looking at her in an unnaturally friendly way.

"Umm, oh, umm" She was a little flustered, ashamed that she had been hanging on for the slightest tidbit of gossip about exactly what Harry had done to cause Draco to smile like that. "I've tried a little of it, not that successfully, how about you?"

"Same. I was thinking about the difference between Animagus transfiguration and animal transfiguration and I looked into the history and how it all came about because it was used for dueling centuries ago..."

"It was?" This stunned her, she didn't know that. She hated that she didn't know that.

"Yes, don't you remember? The story of Merlin and Agatha, they dueled, turning themselves into various animals until Merlin devoured Agatha. There was a later incident, Cerridwen and Gwion Bach did the same thing. Cerridwen defeated Gwion Bach when he turns into a grain and she becomes a chicken and eats him.

"Resulting in Taliesin."

"Exactly"

"You think you can do that? It hasn't been attempted for centuries, we don't even know if the stories are real."

Draco grinned, into the subject and suddenly glad to have someone who understood what he was on about. "Oh, it was real, it is possible to transfigure into multiple animals, you know that. It's different to the Animagus. They transform into one animal entirely, taking on most of its physical and psychological attributes and they can stay that way for an indefinite period of time. They can't choose the animal they become, it is something ingrained in their personality or their own physical features that determines the form they take. To perform a basic animal transfiguration is different, it doesn't have to be perfect and you can choose what you become. It won't last above a few brief minutes, but it is done often enough, especially by the Aurors. The trick in using it for dueling is that it has to be done quickly and you can't go from the animal, to yourself and then to another animal, you would have to go from animal to animal. So, say you turn yourself into a fish, you have to use the fishes brain to transfigure into something else, that's where the trick lies."

Hermione stared at Malfoy and wished to Merlin that Harry or Ron thought this way. "Have you tried it?" She asked.

"Yes," he said reluctantly, "with limited success."

"Have you been able to reach animal form?"

Once again he seemed reluctant, "yes, but it isn't that good."

"You haven't been able to do a total transformation?"

"Oh yes, I've been working on this for a few years now, I can do a total transformation, the problem is that I have managed to become and Animagus, and every time I try to transfigure, I automatically go to that animal and I can't become another one."

"WOW!" Hermione's eyes were like saucers, "You're an Animagus! That is so cool, what's your animal?"

He looked away, but smiled at the fact she was impressed.

"Oh come on, what is it?"

He mumbled something in reply.

"Sorry? I didn't get that?"

He mumbled again.

"Pardon?"

He looked at her, exasperated and pink and said, "A ferret," he cried, "there, are you satisfied? It's a bloody ferret!"

She stared at him, her mouth turning up into an involuntary smile and slowly, she began to laugh. It gurgled in her throat and escaped, high and shrill and suddenly it was hysterical and she had to hold her belly as her sides started to ache. "Oh" she laughed harder, "Oh, God" she kept gong, "Does it bounce?" She rolled onto her back and howled with laughter.

He watched her patiently. There was a time he would have hexed her by now, but he found himself strangely tolerant of her mirth at his expense. He had been working on his transfigurations project for years now and this was the first time he had actually been able to discuss it with anyone. Crabb and Goyle had been little more than the goons everyone thought they were and had offered no intellectual stimulation what so ever, Pansy had been more interested in the contents of his pants than the contents of his brain. So he let Granger laugh, knowing she would come to her senses eventually and hopefully offer some useful insight.

"I.." she said at last, trying to curb the laughter. "Oh Gods, I'm sorry, that's great." She wiped a tear from her eye, "I wish I could do it."

"I could help you," he offered, surprising the both of them, "if you'd be willing to work on it with me. I figure between the two of us we could work out how to do the multiple transformations."

She stopped laughing and sat up, her face a look of undisguised excitement. "Really?" she said, but then frowned, "Well, maybe not. I mean, I'll help you, but I don't think I should try the Animagus bit."

"Why not? It won't hurt you."

"Well, if you're a ferret, I can only imagine what I'm going to end up."

"Probably the same thing as your Patronus, that's how it usually works."

"Yes, but not always. My Patronus is an Otter."

"That's sound about right, I can imagine you as a Otter."

"Yeah? Well, I can imagine me ending up a Warthog or something like that."

Draco wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "Why on earth do you think you're going to end up as a Warthog?"

"Well, I'm not gorgeous or anything, and you said yourself you usually get something based on a physical attribute."

"You think you look like a Warthog? I think you've been looking at the schools coat of arms for too long!"

"If I was an animal I'd probably look like a Warthog," she insisted.

"Why?" he looked at her completely disbelieving what she was saying, "Because your so covered in warts? Good grief!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Listen," he cupped her face roughly in one hand, "I know I have been fucking horrible to you for years, but it was more because you beat me at everything than that you were Muggleborn. I will say this only once and if you tell anyone I said it I'll deny it. You are not ugly."

"But I'm not beautiful either," she said quietly.

"Do you have to be?" He smiled bitterly, "It doesn't help to be beautiful you know. You look like you, you're a pretty girl, not heart stopping, but pretty. One day you will meet someone who will look at the sum of all that you are and will find you irresistible. That is what matters. You have to always remember, we equate to more that the crude flesh from which we are fashioned."

She kissed him. She couldn't help it and she couldn't believe she did it, but she did. He responded for a moment, he moved closer, opened himself to the kiss until their tongues met briefly and they pulled away.

For a few seconds they looked anywhere but at each other until Draco, smiling boyishly said, "we really shouldn't have done that."

She giggled self consciously. "No, wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done."

"Was kinda nice though," he said.

"Yeah, was kinda."

They looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing.

"You know," he said chuckling, "if you'd done that yesterday, I'd be fucking you by now."

"Yep." she smiled, "Yesterday I would probably have let you." She shoved him playfully, "so you're not gay then?"

"Well, let's just say I figure I can grace both sexes with the pleasure of my company."

"You like Harry?"

He frowned at her. "Forbidden topic." He said.

"You said he piqued your interest."

"Maybe he did." He smiled.

"How?"

Draco laughed at her and shoved her back. "Now that would be telling."

"Come on!" She shoved him again. "We've just had an intimate moment, you can officially tell me anything."

"Really?" He challenged, "Well, I'll tell you if you tell me who gave you the big hickey on your neck."

Her hands flew to her throat. She had a love bite? Oh Gods, why hadn't she looked in the mirror? Draco was laughing as hard at her reaction as she had when he told her about the ferret. "I…I...I can't tell you," she stammered.

"Oh?" he laughed, "Come on, we've just had an intimate moment, you can officially tell me anything."

"You shit head!" She was laughing now too. Leaning across she kissed his cheek and whispered, "I'm not telling you anything."

He didn't get a chance to reply, because Harry chose that moment to walk through the door with Ron.

~


	9. The Corrosion

Disclaimer - See Prologue

 **Chapter 6**

 **This Corrosion**

 **"Only the dead have seen the end of war" – Plato**

~

The air seemed to have the thick consistency of treacle. Severus Snape tried to clear his thoughts as he ran his hand down the body of the young woman lying beneath him. She gasped; it was the smallest hitch of her breath, but it was enough to drive him wild. She arched her back to meet him, her small breasts, topped with the sweetest pink nipples were offered to him and he bent his head down to kiss each one in turn, sucking gently on the taut flesh. Their movements were slow, too slow, as though they were part of some drug fuelled hallucination, wondrous beings joined together somehow at that moment, although he wasn't sure where they had started out or how they had come to be here.

She cried out, she panted and writhed and he pulled her to him, found her mouth with his own and feasted on her wonderfully swollen lips. She tasted like aniseed and liquorice, and her wanton tongue forced its way into his mouth and began exploring his teeth.

 _"Kiss me"_

 _"I am kissing you"_

 _"Kiss my mouth"_

Was that a memory? Yes, yes it must be. They had been drinking, yes, all night long. Had it come to this? It must have.

He was inside her, fucking her and she watched him, her smile seductive, her eyes hooded, her heart shaped face upturned, her swollen mouth slightly opened. She didn't look like herself, she looked like a wanton temptress. But who was she? She was tight inside, a virgin heat, but he could not remember entering her, or how they had made it to this bed with its satin sheets tangling around them. The air had a floating quality. He felt weightless, yet he was here, inside this woman, fucking her, his cock surrounded by her heat.

 _He knew who she was._

"Hermione." His voice seemed nothing more than a breath of air and she opened her eyes a little wider and smiled the smile of a seductress…and pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts.

He came, hard into her in thick shooting bursts that threatened to never end.

And Severus Snape woke up.

Alone.

He was definitely alone. He couldn't detect even the faintest trace of a scent other than his own. His eyes darted around the room, checking familiar corners, orientating himself and realizing that he was indeed in his own bed, on crisp white cotton sheets, under thick, warm blankets. From out the window he could see the light fading from the sky and with an unreasonable sense of loss he realized that he had slept the day away.

He soon became aware of the cold, congealing ejaculate in his underwear and wrinkled his nose as a heady wave of disgust washed over him. With this disgust came flashes of memory. Memory that could have been part of a dream. Had to be part of a dream. Drinking. Drinking far too much. The taste of Absinthe on a woman's tongue. The touch and smell of her.

 _Hermione._

He sat bolt upright in the bed, disorientated all over again. He had dreamed he'd been having sex with Hermione Granger? There was more than that. He was sure of it. He had done something terribly wrong, but exactly what that thing was, he had no idea. He scratched his stomach absently and ran a hand though his greasy hair before looking down at the mess he had made of himself.

 _What the hell was he wearing?_

He wondered for a moment just how he had managed to get himself to bed. He remembered going to breakfast (and with some shame he remembered that he was most definitely still drunk at that point) and after that he had felt ill.

He'd been sick. Really sick. Sick every where and someone had pulled his head out of the toilet bowl and cleaned him up. The sound of concerned laughter rushed into his mind. Minerva had put him to bed.

Well that explained the choice of clothes. She had no doubt been highly amused. He was dressed in a rumpled black t-shirt that read "Fuck Me and Marry Me Young"… a Christmas present, from Lucius Malfoy in 1983, and what looked like Frosty the Snowman satin boxer shorts, bright red with white snow men and lots of holly...another Christmas present, this time from Albus Dumbledore, 1998. He could never recall having ever worn either in his life. Now he'd orgasmed in them.

Feeling a dull sense of shame that Minerva had undressed him (and that he had been in no shape to fight it), he swung long pale legs out of the bed and padded across the darkening room to the bath room. Taped to the door was a note.

 _' Dear Severus,_

 _I have put a hangover cure on the sink next to the bath. If you are not awake by five this afternoon, I will come and wake you. I will bring you some dinner up later. Please remember that the new Sports Master is coming tonight. I want you to come to the staff room to meet him._

 _Minerva._

 _PS: I haven't seen you naked since I had to fish you out of that tree that James Potter stranded you in when you were 13. My, how you've grown.'_

Trust Minerva to just have to add that. He felt himself go bright red and he pulled the note from the door and crumpled it into a ball. He had forgotten all about the new Sports Master. He still couldn't believe that after all these years, Hooch had finally called it a day. She had only stayed until a suitable replacement could be found, and as Dumbledore didn't think Ludo Bagman was a suitable replacement, they had waited for months. So many that Severus had begun to assume that old Hooch would stay.

Hooch's replacement arrived tonight and he had promised he would go and greet him. Severus groaned. He would meet the poor sap soon enough, why did it have to be tonight?

The hangover potion was indeed on the sink next to the bath and despite feeling fine, he drank it for an extra sense of well being. He removed the offensive t-shirt and decidedly sticky shorts and stepped into the shower. As soon as he did so hot jets of water washed over him and he sighed at one of the few pleasures his life actually afforded. He loved Hogwarts plumbing. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation, but in his mind's eye he saw the line of her jaw, the turn of her nose and sensuous swell of her mouth.

Hermione.

He was erect within seconds.

"She's a child Severus," he growled, but, unlike other times when this very thing happened, he could not push the image from his head. He felt for a moment as though he knew her intimately somehow, he could hear her laughter, hear her voice in his head ("tell me a story"), feel the way that her body seemed to fit perfectly into the curve of his own, the hardness of her taut nipples, the tight wetness of her…

He had fingered the girl.

Oh Gods he had! He had touched her. He had made her come.

"Oh fuck no!" He stood stock still under the steady stream of hot water for the longest time. Not game to close his eyes unless he once again beheld what was expressly forbidden to him. He stood there, mouth open, hopelessly erect and wide eyed. He couldn't have done this. He wouldn't have. He can't have!

But he had and he knew he had because all of the regrets from breakfast came back to him with crystal clarity. This was bad. This was very very bad. Then other thoughts came to him. Had she enjoyed it? Had he given her enough pleasure? Would she wake up and wish her life was over when she realized that she had kissed her foul Potions Master? Would she try to hang herself when she realized he had put his fingers inside her?

His cock was demanding he pay attention to it, refusing to go back to its normally flaccid state without some kind of release. Reluctantly (although he shivered with the anticipation) he reached down and curled his fingers around his own shaft and began to stroke himself roughly, picturing her face as he brought himself to his second orgasm of the day.

~

Harry had, just as he had feared, been partnered with Ginny for dueling. As such, he had learned nothing at all today. Ginny had looked at him with the same hurt eyes she had used for the last year and fired her worst at him. He had, of course, easily deflected everything she tried and hadn't thrown anything serious back at her. The fact was, he noted, that without Draco, Dueling was actually incredibly boring.

It wasn't Ginny's fault. She was a reasonably skilled duelist. But there was a difference between dueling and fighting. Harry had been trained by Dumbledore to fight, and fight to the death. Draco had been trained by Lucius Malfoy to fight, and fight to the death. It didn't take a genius to work out that they were perfect sparring partners. He found himself itching to hurl something really nasty at Ginny, anything at all, just for the fun of it. He also knew that there was no way she would be able to deflect half of what he could throw at her, so he kept it simple, stifling a yawn. He could have, he decided, read a book and still come out the victor.

So, having finished Defense against the Dark Arts that day with little sense of accomplishment, Harry declined the idea of going to watch Gryffindor play Quidditch in favor of returning to the tower to study. That was all he seemed to do these days. Study. He wondered if this was what it was like to be Hermione and decided she must have a rather dull existence. He needed something to happen, something to give a little spark to his life. Perhaps that is why he had thrown caution to the wind and kissed Draco. Then again, he could have just been proving his own idiocy.

Watching Gryffindor practice would only serve to highlight the fact that he couldn't play and from all accounts, the Slytherins were kicking their asses this year. Ron had agreed with Harry's sentiment and they had both headed off towards the tower. Ron had some kind of a date with some mystery woman whose name he would not disclose, so Harry could only assume that he knew her. He seemed pretty keen to get ready for it and so they had returned to the tower as soon as the class was finished, to change robes and get ready for dinner so that Ron could go and "satisfy the terms of the contract."

All thoughts of Draco and the dark voices that often filled his head were banished for a short while and Harry was content to wander the corridors back to the tower with Ron in companionable camaraderie – as though they were kids again and they hadn't reached this stage of young adultism where they noticed each other faults tenfold and tried desperately to ignore them. All was well until they walked into the common room.

Draco shot back from Hermione as though she had burned him and they both turned to face Harry and Ron, their faces masks of guilt, Hermione having perfected the 'deer caught in headlights' expression. Ron's mouth was working open and closed as he struggled to speak, shock quickly turning to anger.

Draco looked mildly embarrassed and guilty, he was not looking at Ron or Hermione. He was looking at Harry with some interest, wondering exactly what Harry's reaction would be. Harry stared back, his eyes flicking from Draco to Hermione and back again, trying to process what he had seen. Hermione had kissed Draco, but all her hair had obscured just where she had kissed him. Had it been his cheek? Dear Gods let it have been his cheek! A foul knot formed in the pit of Harry's belly and began to twist and curl and ache. His own insecurities told him she had kissed Draco's mouth. He had agonized over Draco all day and now he found him here with his best friend, one of his best friends, soon to be ex-friend.

"Oh my God," Ron had found his voice, "what the fuck is going on?"

The voice sounded distant and hollow to Harry. What had they been laughing at, why had they laughed as they kissed? She had leaned in, she had put her hand on his shoulder and she had kissed him (On the cheek? The mouth?) and she had whispered something. What had she whispered? What were they laughing at?

"Is this him?" Ron was demanding of Hermione, "Is this who you were with last night? This piece of shit?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione's voice sounded shrill and confused. One minute she had been laughing, now she was being yelled at by Ron.

"The Contract!" Ron snorted, "You did a great job on it, you should go and check it out. It tells us when you've fooled around, not that the big fucking love bite on your neck wouldn't give it away!"

Hermione's hand fluttered to her neck and she began to stammer out a reply that was lost on both Harry and Ron. Harry paled as though he had been drained of blood. Had it been Draco that Hermione was with last night? Had she been there, somewhere in that room, to bare witness to Harry's foolish kiss? Is that what they had been laughing at? Had they been laughing at him?

"I can't believe your taste!" Ron spat, "After Krum I knew you liked a bad boy, but this is ridiculous. You let this fucking scum touch you! I didn't think you'd sink to the gutter just to get through this deal."

Hermione glared balefully at Ron and did they worst thing she could have done in the circumstances. "Don't call him scum Ron, he hasn't done anything to you."

While Draco was surprised that Hermione had actually stood up for him, her words only seemed to confirm the worst for her friends. Harry looked at the pair of them in horror.

"Was she there?" Harry asked suddenly, cutting Ron off mid sentence.

"You've got the wrong idea," Draco replied calmly.

 _"WAS SHE THERE?"_ Harry bellowed.

"Was I where?" Hermione almost pleaded, frightened by the look on Harry's face and the sheer volume of his words. She wondered for a moment if this was what he looked like when he turned on Voldemort in that final battle, she wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he had.

Harry turned on her, his eyes blazing with pure hatred. "Was it fun?" he asked, "Where were you hiding? Did you have a good laugh when I left?"

"H-H-Harry, you've got it all wrong. We were talking about school work, Transfigurations, I swear it…" She was on the verge of tears she didn't know what she could say that would make this right.

"Transfigurations?" Ron laughed nastily, "You've babbled on at me about transfigurations for years and you never kissed me over it."

"Maybe that's because you're a weasel faced prat," Draco retorted. He was quite enjoying this. He had never been there to see the three of them fight before and Harry was as jealous as sin… which put Draco in a very good position indeed. He couldn't help but smirk.

"I wasn't talking to you, Ferret!" Ron hissed. Draco kept the self satisfied smirk on his face and shrugged.

Hermione turned desperately to Harry, he was usually the more reasonable of the two and she hoped that his reasonableness would prevail now. "Draco asked me who gave me the love bite, we laughed about it, I told him that I would tell him who. That's all, really it is."

Her hopes were in vain. "Oh?" Harry's eyes narrowed, "I thought you were talking about Transfigurations?"

"We were!" she cried helplessly.

 _"DON"T FUCKING LIE TO ME!"_

Hermione took a step back from Harry who seemed now to be rage personified. There was nothing of the reasonable Harry about him now. "I'm not," she said, tears stung her eyes, "I'm not lying to you."

"She wasn't there, Harry," Draco was still calm, still smiling, "you have the wrong end of the stick, nothing happened, you're only going to make a fool out of yourself if you keep this up."

"FUCK OFF!" Harry jabbed Draco in the chest, "FUCK OFF YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!"

Draco laughed, "Harry," he said.

"FUCK OFF!"

Draco shrugged easily and turned to Hermione, "I'll talk to you about the dueling tomorrow." He threw a sneer at Ron and Harry who was bristling in anger, "don't even try and reason with him," he indicted to Harry, "let him calm down and stop acting like a silly little boy."

"You cunt," Harry hissed, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco.

Draco didn't flinch, he didn't pull his own wand out, he just looked at the trembling mass of fury that was Harry and raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do Harry?" He drawled, "Are you going to hex me because I may or may not have kissed one of your friends?"

Harry said nothing for a moment, indeed, for a moment he couldn't speak at all, then finally he spat, "you are scum, Malfoy. You're nothing but the filthy son of a filthy scum ridden Father who deserves everything he is getting. You are not to touch her again, you are not to sully any of my friends by touching them."

The smile returned to Draco's face, infuriating Harry further. "Alright then," he said, "I won't lay so much as a finger on you or your friends ever again."

"Good!" it was Ron now. "I'd hate to have to dump a friend because they were contaminated by filth like you."

Draco's smile twisted into a malevolent and positively evil grin. "Really? Well if that's what you do because I touch them, you will have to actually disown you sister, now won't you? I must say, she wasn't such a bad fuck considering the family that raised her, but I suppose she will have a fabulous career ahead of her, don't you think?" With that he left the room, wisely doing so before Ron could actually recover his senses enough to hex him.

~

Contrary to popular opinion about the school, Snape not only bathed but he also washed his hair. Relentless teasing in his youth had giving him an almost fanatical fixation with personal hygiene, he was, if nothing else, remarkably clean. Unfortunately his hair and skin really didn't care what he did and despite his regular ministrations, he looked greasy, he always would. Anyone who actually got close enough to him would attest that he certainly didn't smell bad, in fact, he actually smelled very good. Minerva had convinced him some years ago to make her scents for her, based on the fact that he made his own with such incredible skill. If all else failed he could always go into the perfume business…the idea appalled him, but he could always fall back on it.

Over the years he had resisted any attempts by well meaning do-gooders to correct his physical deficiencies. He might be obsessed with being clean, but he refused outright to subject himself to the myriad of potions that would make him look better than he did. The very idea brought to mind such loathsome dandies as Gilderoy Lockhart and he often reasoned that if he started with all that nonsense, lilac robes wouldn't be too far off. He shuddered at the thought. He looked fearsome. He was fearsome. He liked it that way. He had never been handsome and it didn't bother him.

So why was he thinking about it now?

Hermione. God, what had he been thinking? Or perhaps he hadn't been thinking and that was why he was in this predicament. The ball was most definitely in the girls' court because she could have him out of Hogwarts with a very brief word to the Headmaster. He had two options. He could be sickeningly nice to her, perhaps even offer to give her perfect scores on her NEWTS…hell, he'd even give Potter perfect scores on his NEWTS…if she kept her mouth shut. But it wasn't in his nature to do that and he suspected she wouldn't accept that either. So the second option was to intimidate her into not speaking. He could do that. He was a seasoned professional at intimidation.

Except he didn't want to intimidate her. The fact was that she had awakened something long dormant within him. Desire. Desire for a woman. Desire to make someone happy and to be made happy himself. With this girl, however, he could never have that. She was his student, she was too young, she was inexperienced in the ways of the world, she was a know it all little Gryffindor, who was best friends with the Potter brat and had made his life hell for seven or more years. Well, that wasn't entirely true, she hadn't made his life hell as such. If anyone was guilty of that crime it was probably himself…or at least Potter.

His biggest concern was that she would wake up, realize what had happened and decide life wasn't worth living. He hadn't had sex in almost ten years and that was probably because the last time was so bloody terrible he couldn't bring himself to do it again. He had, on the urgings of a friend, visited a local brothel. Only to have the girl turn out to be an ex-student (and if he really thought about it, all the young women at the Hogsmeade brothel, or indeed anywhere in England, were going to be ex-Hogwarts students) and she became so traumatized that she'd had to fuck Professor Snape that he was still paying for her therapy.

Oh Gods, don't let her think that I forced her.

That was the other problem. What if she honestly thought he had forced her? He hadn't, he was sure of that, but the evidence wasn't good. They were locked in his private store room, drinking his private stash of extremely potent Absinthe.

He looked at himself in his mirror, a good muggle mirror that wouldn't make a noise about his looks, his personality or his demeanor, and wished for the first time since childhood that he was a better person than he was. He then swept the thought away, scowled at himself and drew himself up to his full height.

Feeling more like his usual self he swept through his chambers, pulling on his robes as he did so and preparing to go and suffer through dinner with Minerva laughing at his expense. Before he reached the door he saw a letter sitting on his bedside table. Quickly retrieving it he studied the heavy cream parchment. The seal was an ornate M entwined in a tangle of roses. He opened the letter and read its' contents. Then he sank down into a chair beside his empty fireplace.

Narcissa was dead.

~

"Ginny?" Ron said in shock

"He was probably just pissing about," Hermione said, attempting to reassure Ron despite the fact that he was so angry with her he wanted to see her rot in hell.

"Ginny?" He couldn't believe it.

"He only said it to get at you."

"Ginny?"

Harry turned back to Hermione, his wand dangerously close to her face. "So what's going on?" he demanded, trying to control his voice, trying to calm down.

"Nothing, Harry, honestly there is nothing going on."

"So who were you with last night if it wasn't him?"

She fumbled for a reply.

"Ginny?" said Ron, still in shock at the revelation.

"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed at his friend, who snapped instantly back to his senses.

"I'm gonna fucking kill her!" Ron declared.

Harry rolled his eyes and stamped his foot impatiently. "Don't you have a date or something that you are supposed to be getting ready for?"

Ron looked at Harry, offended at the tone and decided it was best to bow out of this argument. "Yeah," he said, giving Hermione a nasty look, "I'll kill Ginny tomorrow. You'd better hope I don't kill you to."

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes now, like Ron was going to kill anyone. Ron gave Harry an encouraging look, hoping to make sure that Harry continued to berate Hermione for doing the unforgivable with the unthinkable, and he disappeared into his bedchamber to get changed.

Harry glared at Hermione. "So?" He questioned, "who was it?"

"Nothing happened," she said quietly.

"Who were you with?" Harry demanded stubbornly.

"Not Draco Malfoy."

"Then who?" His anger was rising again, she could hear it in his voice and the fact that he had gone red again.

"No one important."

"You will tell me who the hell it was or I swear to you I will do something I'll regret later."

She shivered, her mouth went dry and she said in a voice that choked, "Snape".

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME!" He hit her. Hard. Knocking her sideways with such a force that her head cracked against the fireplace and she slumped, shocked, to the floor. Tears spilled down her face before she even realized that she was crying and for a moment she couldn't move; pain invaded every part of her skull and she just sat there, unable to believe he had hit her.

Harry felt the anger leave him and was instantly replaced by horror at what he had done. He reached for her. "Oh God, 'Mione, I am so sorry."

She looked up at him with large eyes and pulled away from his touch, the unmistakable look of fear written all over her features. "I have detention," she sobbed, "I have to get ready."

"'Mione, I'm sorry."

She scrambled to her feet and fled the room.

~

"As you can see Minister, the collection is looking very fine, very fine indeed."

Cornelius Fudge looked at Curator Archibald Semeuse and was immediately reminded of Barty Couch. Not so much in his looks, but by the fastidiousness of his person. The man seemed capable of locating even the smallest, most insignificant piece of lint on his robes. His robes were pressed to within an inch of their lives. Looking closely, Fudge could see that each fold had a perfect crease pressed in.

Fudge nodded. "It looks impressive Curator, the entrance is excellent. The rare Dark Magic memorabilia leading to the Death Eaters is very clever." His gaze shifted nervously to the Death Eaters in their glass cases. "Goodness, they are eerie, aren't they?" He laughed to hide the shiver that ran down his spine.

With his eyes shifting from Death Eater to Death Eater, Fudge edged himself closer to the case containing Lucius Malfoy and stared openly at him. How many bribes had he taken from this man? How many 'contributions' had Malfoy made to his campaign? Fudge smiled, in Malfoy's case, silence was golden. Malfoy looked thin and pale. Where the other Death Eaters stared sightlessly and could almost have been at peace, Malfoy had dark smudges under his eyes. Looking into those eyes Fudge was startled. They were not the glazed, dead looking things that sat like marbles in the heads of the others. Malfoy's eyes were clear, troubled, and intelligent. He shivered again, sure that perhaps it was because Malfoy's eyes were grey, the color of a stormy sky, perhaps that was the reason they didn't look so bad as the others whose eyes were once brighter or darker.

"Do they move?" Fudge asked the Curator.

"Occasionally," Semeuse joined the Minister, more than happy to talk about his favorite specimen. "It is very rare, sometimes it is to simply close their eyes to sleep."

"So they never speak then?"

"No, they can't. That is the nature of the Kiss, Minister."

Fudge smiled and looked back at Malfoy, considerably relieved but still unnerved by the clearness of his eyes. "You have cleaned them up admirably," he said hiding his discomfort, "perhaps a little too well. I don't know how people will take them looking so good"

"I have to admit, once I got started getting the filth off I couldn't rest until I was finished. I think you'll agree, I found some little treasures." Semeuse almost purred, his gaze focused entirely on Malfoy.

Fudge looked at the Curator strangely. The room was getting to him and the Curator was speaking almost affectionately of the Death Eaters. They resembled oversized porcelain dolls to Fudge, who couldn't stand the staring eyes any longer. "Treasures?" He frowned, "I suppose you can call them that. I really think we should move on to the next room Curator."

Semeuse smiled thinly and lead Fudge from the Death Eaters Chamber. "You must forgive me, Minister. I barely notice them any more, but I know you wanted them to look unnerving and I believe you will agree that I have succeeded in that."

"Yes, you certainly have."

"I have to admit that I lose myself in the collections and to me, they are just specimens. I know that this may sound terrible, but I must say that they don't even feel like people to me any longer. They are as dead and as fascinating as a mummy."

Fudge nodded, "In order to work so closely with them I am sure that you are thinking of them in the right way. If you dwell on what they were, you might find it difficult to curate the exhibition. Take Malfoy for example, The Dark Lords right hand man, did you know that?"

Semeuse felt anger and anxiety rise. "No," he said, "I knew he was important to the Dark Lord, but I didn't know what role he played."

"Well, he was the worst of the worst. Evil character, the world is better off rid of him."

Semeuse forced the rage down. Later he would take his Angel down and bathe him, wash his hair and pour a sleeping draft down his throat. The Angel looked tired, he needed to sleep, he needed rest.

"Here at the Museum," the Minister continued, picking up pace and sounding as though he was about to launch into a political campaign speech, "the Death Eaters can be educational, a cautionary tale if you will, a warning. In this state they can give back to the society they tried to destroy."

Seizing the opportunity with his usual impeccable timing, Semeuse said thoughtfully, "Yes Minister, you are absolutely right, it will almost be a shame when it comes time to break it up."

"Break it up? I don't understand you meaning."

"After the exhibition," Semeuse explained, "I understand that the specimens are to be returned to their families."

"Yes. Or to Azkaban if their families don't want them returned." Fudge returned to his usual jovial persona, "I have to tell you, the majority of them will go back to Azkaban, most families have wisely decided not to have themselves associated with these… dregs… of society."

Semeuse felt his spirit soar. "Well, that is a bit of a shame. I mean, they are all purebloods as well as Villains and it would be such a contribution if, instead of sending them back to Azkaban, you left them here, as part of the permanent collection."

"The permanent collection?"

Semeuse felt as though he were leading a small child to an inevitable conclusion, "Yes Minister, here at the museum we pride ourselves on the excellence of our permanent collection. There are no other Museums in the world that has a collection of Death Eaters or Pureblood Wizards and it seems a waste to have a perfectly good one rotting in Azkaban. Think of it Minister, think of the future generations of our kind that we can educate."

Fudge was nodding, "Yes, yes I see."

This was easier than Semeuse thought. He had feared he would need to use Imperio and he really didn't want to try it on the Minister of Magic himself. "It will be a testament to you, Minister."

"Oh? How so?"

"Think of it, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister who brought down the Dark Lord Voldemort and brought his Death Eaters to heel. Here they are, your achievement, for all the world to see."

That sealed it. Give the Minister and not the young Potter the credit for bringing down the Dark Lord and watch him do anything Semeuse asked.

"Yes!" Fudge exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement, "excellent notion, I will have the arrangements made immediately."

"Thank you, thank you Minister, you are the very image of benevolence." Semeuse felt his skin start to almost glow with triumph. He looked back into the room where he could see his Angel bathed in light and ached to stroke the warm flesh.

"Of course, Malfoy will be a loss, but I am sure I can find another to replace him."

Semeuse froze, "Minister? Malfoy a loss? I thought you said the families didn't want them?"

"No, no. _Most_ families don't want them. I'm afraid Malfoy's son wants his Father returned."

A son? His Angel had a son who wanted him returned? "I see," he forced himself to remain calm and looked at the Angel with an aching feeling of panic. "It would be a terrible shame, Minister. Mr. Malfoy there is really the crowning glory of the collection. As you said yourself, Voldemort's Right Hand man."

"Well," said Fudge, "the boy is at Hogwarts, perhaps he could be persuaded. Then there is always money," Fudge laughed, "Money was always something the Malfoy's understood."

Of course! There was nothing so easy. The younger Malfoy was at school, a child, easily persuaded and the Museum had money that could be used to purchase something so important as the crowning glory in a major collection. Children are easily swayed and Semeuse saw nothing easier than persuading a boy that he really didn't need the burden of a Death Eater Father who had been kissed by a Dementor. The Curator's gaze became again transfixed on the Angel in his glass case and he smiled at those grey eyes.

~

Harry sat in the deserted Common room feeling sorry for himself and asking himself questions that he had been avoiding for months. What exactly had he become? What had Dumbledore made him? He had caught so many snatches of thought from people passing him by. Words and voices that filled his head. He should have died, he should never have survived, he should have died like he was supposed to. They had made him into their weapon and like all weapons, he should have been destroyed once his use had passed.

Ron had dragged him to dinner and subjected him to an hours worth of a rant about Hermione and how she was nothing short of disgusting for having touched Malfoy. Ron then had tracked down Ginny and fairly bellowed at her, and if it hadn't have been for Ron's date, Harry was sure that the ensuing fight would have gone on all night. They had then returned to the tower, Ron continuing his rant the whole way with Harry nodding dutifully to everything Ron said. Yes, Malfoy was a disgusting ferret faced git. No, he didn't understand what Hermione was playing at. Yes, Malfoy was an inbred pure blood eyesore. No, He didn't know why Ginny had lowered the family name and slept with him. Yes, Malfoy deserved to die a slow and painful death. The rant went on and on.

Harry stopped listening, he just kept nodding and making approving noises and thinking about why the hell he had been so stupid. He had kissed Draco Malfoy and then he had hit Hermione because she did the same thing. His stomach ached at the idea of Hermione's mouth on Draco's, doing the same thing with Draco's tongue as Harry had done last night. He pushed that thought away as fast as he could. Harry had hit her hard enough to knock her down and really hurt her.

They had arrived back at the tower in time to see Hermione rushing out of the tower for detention. She had stopped, and made to say something but quickly turned away and continued down the hall.

"Slut!" Ron called after her and she turned again. Harry grabbed Ron and charged into the common room, not wanting to see the stricken look on her face for a moment longer.

Ron had checked his reflection, mussed his hair, liked what he saw and left for his date, telling Harry not to wait up and giving him a salacious wink. Harry smiled in spite of himself. Once he was gone, Harry was left alone in the deserted tower, left to his thoughts, things that he had been avoiding like a coward. So much for the Gryffindor Hero.

The feel of his hand connecting with Hermione's face. That sting against his palm which must have hurt her far more. Why had it felt so good? Why had it felt so bloody good to hit someone? To hurt her?

What have I become?

 _"A weapon should be dismantled, all that power shouldn't be allowed to fester."_ Where had he heard that? The mind of Molly Weasley. But she loved him like a mother. No, Harry's mother was dead, if his mother was alive he wouldn't be who he was.

Familiar voices filled his head. He didn't deserve to have lived. He was supposed to die. He shut his eyes. This was the product of too many nights of not sleeping (and when he did sleep there were the dreams to contend with). He was finding it harder to ignore them lately. Perhaps he had always believed they were wrong, but now he had hit his friend and he had loved the feel of it. All of those years he had kept himself alive and cold had culminated in this. He was an obsolete weapon waiting to explode.

"Over your little temper tantrum yet Potty?" Malfoy's drawl was inevitable but Harry jumped regardless.

"You're nothing but a filthy slut Malfoy," Harry snapped.

Draco shrugged. "Don't believe everything you hear, Potter." He laughed derisively, "Are we dueling?"

"No." Harry wanted nothing more than to duel, he needed to get some of the aggression that had built up in him out, but he didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction. "I'm not in the mood."

Draco yawned and stretched, exposing a flash of the pale belly that had driven Harry mad two years before and had no doubt lead him to this current mess. It had a similar effect now. Harry stared transfixed at the place where the flash of belly had been.

"So, where is everyone?" Draco stifled another yawn.

"Library." Harry reluctantly drew his eyes away from Draco's stomach to take in the whole package. He was wearing a black t-shirt and low slung black pajama pants. His feet were bare. Harry felt his cock stir and begin to harden.

"Studying?"

"Yes." Harry purposely looked past Draco and focused on the suddenly fascinating fireplace.

"So what are you going to do?" Draco asked, "Sit there all night feeling sorry for yourself because you made a total prat of yourself this afternoon?"

"I did not make prat out of myself this afternoon!" Harry growled defensively, "You were the one sitting there canoodling with Hermione!"

"Canoodling?" Draco laughed, "I don't think I have ever 'canoodled' in my life."

Harry blushed and then felt his anger rise. "So what were you doing with her then?"

Draco sighed; "exactly what we said we were doing. Talking. We were onto transfigurations and then I asked her about the love bite, that's all."

"So why did she kiss you?"

"I don't know! Sign of affection maybe?"

"Must've been some fucking talk you had," Harry turned away, sulking. " It got rid of seven years of hating your guts."

"Well," Draco raised an eyebrow, "it isn't the most surprising kiss I've received in the last twenty four hours, so I kinda didn't question it."

Harry blushed and looked anywhere but Draco, he changed the subject, knowing that he really didn't want to. "I read about your Mother," he said and regretted it when Draco visibly tensed and hugged his arms defensively.

"Made the Daily Prophet did it?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly and watched a muscle work in Draco's cheek.

"Well," he drawled with forced sarcasm, "she always loved to make the society pages."

"Does it upset you?"

"Of course it upsets me! What do you want me to do, break down?"

"I…"

"Look," Draco interrupted, "I really don't want to talk about my Mother at the moment, so can we drop it?"

"Sure"

"Good." He looked at Harry and made his mind to act, "Do you want to come to my room?"

Harry looked quickly back to him, his mind racing. "Why?" he asked quickly, sounding untrusting, almost fearful.

"Talk, snog, fuck, whatever." Draco turned away from Harry, listening. "Someone's coming," he said.

Harry listened hard and heard footsteps coming up the stone stairs.

"If you want me, I'll be in my room." Draco turned and walked away. After a moment, Harry followed him.

~

Hermione managed to stop the flow of tears on her way to the dungeons. She was more than a little distressed that she was about to go and see the man she had spent most of last night rocking her body against with her eyes and nose red from crying. Harry had slapped her. There was still a part of her mind that couldn't believe it. The mind numbing pain in her skull attested to the truth of it. He had slapped her because he thought she had been with Draco. He had kept accusing her of being somewhere, she had no idea where she was supposed to have been, but she was certain she hadn't been there.

It was almost as though he was jealous.

Almost? It was exactly like he was jealous! But how could that be. Harry wasn't in love with her. So who was he jealous of? Draco? That wasn't possible. Unless…

No. Not possible…Unless.

It didn't matter anyway. She wasn't going to forgive him for hitting her.

The cold of the dungeons hit her like a physical force. She swayed a little. She hadn't eaten for almost two days and her head ached. She felt a rush of nausea wash over her.

"Pull yourself together girl," she muttered and knocked on Professor Snape's office door.

"Enter." came the growled response from inside and she pushed the door open a little and slipped inside.

He didn't look up when she entered the room and she stood nervously for a moment before saying, "Professor?"

"What can I do for you, Miss Granger?" He asked her silkily, not looking up from the papers that he was marking.

She blinked, and blinked again. The very least he could do was look at her when he spoke. "I have detention, Sir."

He did look up then, scowl perfectly in place. He looked at her as though she was little more than a piece of dirt on his dress robes. "I see," he said, "it was good of you to remember. I would suggest that you take yourself off to Mr. Filch and tell him that I sent you for detention." He went back to his marking.

Hermione didn't move. She couldn't move. She felt glued to the spot. He had dismissed her entirely, as though she truly _was_ nothing but dirt on his dress robes. She glared at him, hands balled into fists by her side and fury rising in her throat. First Harry hits her, then Ron calls her a slut and now Snape was ignoring her! After last night the bastard should worship her!

He looked at her questioningly. "Did you misunderstand my meaning Miss Granger? I will make it very clear for you, lest your brain be unable to process the instruction. Go-to-Mr.-Filch-and-tell-him-that-I-sent-you-for-detention. I am sure he will have a suitable task for you."

"You!" she cried suddenly.

"Yes?" he replied evenly.

"You greasy, slimy son of a whore!"

His eyes widened, she was furious, she was so angry that she was shaking. So the kitten had claws. He almost smiled.

"How dare you, you disgusting wretch! You should get down on your fucking knees and thank me for even coming down here!"

She was brilliant, inside he was down on his knees with his arms thrown around her waist, but he said; "Are you quite finished with your temper tantrum Miss Granger?"

"No I'm fucking not!" She cried, "We spent an evening together, which I am sure you will agree was more than a little entertaining, and you greet me with by telling me to go and see Filch? You're lucky I don't get up there and slap the scowl off your ugly greasy face!"

"Well thank you, Miss Granger, for your very witty references to my personal appearance and as for our 'entertaining' evening together, I shall remind you that we were both under the influence of a great deal of alcohol and didn't know half of what we were doing."

"I can repeat it back to you if your need your memory refreshed," she hissed harshly, "I can give you a word by word, action by action account if you like." She straightened, drawing herself up to her full, albeit rather short, height. "Or perhaps I should tell Professor Dumbledore. I am sure he would find it very interesting."

By the Gods, she could have been a Slytherin, the evil little imp. He sat back, "All right," he said, his tone softer, more respectful, "do you want to discuss what happened last night?"

"Yes," she couldn't suppress her triumphant smile, "I would."

~  
Continued...


	10. The Corrosion Part 2

_Chapter 6 - Part 2_

"So what was it like?" Harry asked.

"What was what like?"

"Your parents getting the Kiss."

Harry stood awkwardly in Draco's chamber. He had dueled in here in this room dozens of times, but now all he could think about was last night and the feel and taste of Draco's tongue in his mouth.

Draco sat on his bed and looked at Harry long enough to make Harry shift uncomfortably on the spot. "For me," Draco said, "it was…" he fumbled for a word, not wanting to sound foolish but wanting to be truthful, "traumatic. I didn't want to be there but I was 'required' to attend by the Ministry. Dumbledore and Snape came with me. My Mother was first, she went really quietly. She just seemed to accept it." He stopped, frowning a little, suddenly troubled. "My Father…" he looked away, towards the far wall and the bookshelves there. Harry followed his gaze and saw a picture, a black and white photograph of Draco's Father. Harry looked away, not willing to look at Lucius Malfoy just yet. "It scared him." Draco said quietly, "I've never seen him scared before, but the Dementor scared him. He didn't want to go." His voice choked on the last words and he drew a long shuddered breath and closed his eyes. Then he suddenly snapped out of it and glared at Harry, "is that what you wanted to know?"

Harry nodded and looked back at the photograph. The last time he had seen Lucius Malfoy was in battle. Harry had killed Voldemort and had turned away from the body, to see Malfoy standing halfway up the stairs with a look of utter shock on his face. He had looked from Harry to his fallen master and then back to Harry and for the briefest moment Harry saw a smile (was it relief?) cross the Death Eaters face. Then his countenance changed and he looked as though he expected a fight, or to be killed outright. He had moved the staff he was carrying to a better position to strike and Harry thought, 'this is it, now I am going to die.' Then seven stun spells struck Malfoy and knocked him to the ground.

Draco had that same look on his face now, the one where he expected a fight and Harry really didn't want to fight with him. He also decided that it would not be a good thing to tell Draco that he was there when his Father fell. He doubted that Draco would understand it and if anything was going to be conductive to fighting it would be Harry casually saying; "you should have seen the look on your Dad's face when he went down." Truth be told, Harry was wondering if it would be possible to kiss Draco again. It was a wholly inappropriate thought for that time.

Gods, he turns me on. Harry shook his head a little to clear his thoughts. There had been a time when he had thought himself not quite normal. Nothing had aroused him. Ron seemed to get turned on by anything that moved and Hermione, though more guarded in her opinions, was able to point out some cute guy or other. Harry had never really felt any of this. He had forced himself into futile relationships because it was expected of him. He was supposed to meet the right girl, settle down and begat children. He figured his libido would kick in eventually.

Of course, when it did kick in it had been all wrong. Instead of some nice girl it was Draco Malfoy, son of Death Eaters and an all around asshole. How utterly typical of Harry's twisted life. He had spent two years masturbating guiltily in the dark with Malfoy's image in his mind – and then he'd try and wash it away as easily as the ejaculate it produced.

"Hey, earth to Potter."

Harry blinked and quickly looked at Draco, forcing down a blush and not quite succeeding. Draco grinned an evil grin.

"Knut for your thoughts, Potter," he drawled.

"Nothing…I…"

Draco enjoyed his discomfort for a moment. After Harry's display of jealousy this afternoon, Draco was in no doubt of Harry's feelings, even if Harry was. Draco had plenty of experience when it came to women fighting over him and the scenario this afternoon had been very much the same – save of course for the fact that one of the party happened to be The Boy Who Lived. Harry also happened to be The Boy Who Made Draco Malfoy Wank This Morning. Not that Draco masturbating was such an unusual occurrence, he just normally chose nameless, faceless individuals to picture while he was at it.

Draco fell to seriousness for a moment and wondered just what Harry wanted from him. There had been a time in Draco's life where he would have simply grabbed Harry and bedded him without question. In fact, he was renowned for grabbing and bedding a multitude of women – some of which was true and a lot of which was pure fantasy – but he hadn't taken a lover since the war. He was perfectly aware that when he chose to do so it would have to be someone very special, perhaps even someone he loved or could at least fall in love with. Once upon a time the idea had made him shudder, but the war had changed a lot of things. The war had left scars that would not wash away.

Still, he did have a desire to see just how far Harry would go. He figured that at the very least he could get another kiss out of Harry and that was worth any fight that might ensue. The gentleness of the kiss last night, the very unexpectedness of it, had thrilled him no end. Who knew that Harry Potter would feel and taste that good?

"So," he said with forced casualness, "why did you kiss me last night?

~

Snape really did not want to discuss last night. Discussing last night could lead to more foolishness, like throwing himself at her feet and declaring his undying devotion – and that was something he simply wasn't prepared to do. "All right then," he said, concealing panic with impatience, "What do you want to say?"

"I…" Hermione hesitate for a moment. What did she want to say? So many things filled her head but now that she was actually sitting here across from him they all seemed irrelevant. She was suddenly tongue tied. "I…did…do you remember what happened last night?"

He contemplated lying but decided against it. "Yes," he said, "I remember what happened."

"So how do you feel about it?" Point one, Granger for knocking the ball back into his court.

He sighed, "I believe it was foolishness brought about by an excessive intake of Absinthe – which as I explained, is an aphrodisiac. That is all." He hoped that would make her happy. It wasn't her fault, she could not be held accountable for her actions, it was the drink and that was that. She could now forget it ever happened and go about her life.

"That's all?"

"Is there supposed to be more?" He raised an eyebrow and decided that he really was becoming irritated with this conversation. He was 38 years old, he didn't need to be sitting here discussing the emotions attached to a drunken grope with an 18 year old girl. He highly doubted she would be doing this if the grope had occurred with say Potter or the vacant headed Weasley boy. Then again, maybe she might.

"Well…yes, yes there is supposed to be more!" She was sounding indignant, but she chewed her lips which betrayed her nervousness. "You can't tell me that everything that happened was simply because we were drunk!"

"Miss Granger," He rubbed his temple with frustration and stood, "I think you should realize that people do a great many stupid things while they are drunk. Hurling water over their Potions Master in the middle of the night, for example."

Or writing unbreakable contracts. "I wasn't drunk when I drenched you," she said hotly.

"My point is that the alarming rate of teenage pregnancy is a clear indication that people tend to lose control and inhibitions when they are under the influence of alcohol."

"You are hardly a teenager."

He almost slammed his fist into the desk, what did she want from him? "We had drunk the better part of three bottles of highly potent Absinthe, things were bound to get a little…warm."

"Warm? I would say we were more than a 'little warm', Professor."

"Whatever. I believe that we need to now take stock, put it down to foolish things that happen and move on with our lives."

Hermione's anger rose in her chest again. "What?" she demanded, "You think we should 'take stock, put it down to foolish things that happen and move on with our lives'?"

"Well what did you expect, Miss Granger?" he hissed. "Did you think I was going to throw myself at your feet and declare my undying devotion to you? If that is the case I am sorry, but you will have to drag your head out from the cloud in which it is currently residing!"

"I don't expect anything except the respect you owe me!" She began to pace, her face flushed with anger, "I have never been with anyone before last night and then you, of all people, touch me and kiss me and tell me I am beautiful and then you manage to some how, the gods only know how, give me the most erotic experience of my life and now you tell me that you want to forget it and go back to business as usual? Well I am sorry, Professor, but that is not possible."

"WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"I WANT YOU!"

They both froze. Had that just happened? Had she just cried that she wanted him? Both of them knew there was no sense in that.

"Miss Granger," his voice shook a little and he tried desperately to calm it, "you are a very clever witch and you have thus far proved a certain willingness to learn. Take this as your first lesson in love and sex; Life is short and love is always over in the morning."

She felt her face drain of blood and she was horrified by the pricking of tears in her eyes. The last two days had been two much and she had just been flatly refused by the ugliest man she knew. Her head swam and nausea washed over her and as she turned to walk away she stumbled.

~

Harry began to stutter. Why had he kissed Draco? Why had Draco asked him?

"I enjoyed it, by the way." Draco smiled that dazzling smile, "It was very nice indeed."

"I..." Harry lowered his gaze. This was where he had been aching for the conversation to go but now it was here he felt as though his stomach had turned itself inside out. "I've never…"

"Kissed a guy?"

"Yeah, that."

"Well, neither have I, but it felt pretty good to me." Draco patted the bed beside him, "Why don't you sit down?"

There were chairs and a lounge and for a moment Harry contemplated sitting in one of those, but Draco patted the bed again and Harry realized that if he wanted something to happen (and he was fairly certain that he did) he wasn't going to get any closer to it if he sat at the other side of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed.

"So, nothing happened with Hermione?" Harry asked nervously.

"Nothing." Draco smiled, it wasn't his dazzling smile, it was softer than that. It wasn't entirely true about Hermione, they had technically kissed each other but he really didn't think it was worth mentioning such a small incident if it was going to destroy the rather shaky bond that was forming right now.

Harry blushed furiously and wondered why this was so bloody difficult. "Um, Draco," he said quietly.

"Yes, Harry?" Just as quiet.

"Um…would…would you like to kiss again?" Oh Gods did that sound as stupid as he thought it did?

Draco smiled indulgently. "Yes Harry, I'd like that."

They looked at each other, not moving closer. Harry's eyes widened in what he was certain was fear, Draco looked nervous, a little uncertain. That threw Harry. He had just assumed that Draco would be confident and worldly about taking and discarding lovers, Harry never expected to see nervousness and uncertainty on Draco's face.

Harry didn't move and Draco sighed quietly. If anything was going to happen it was no doubt going to be him who would have to instigate it and he didn't know if it was the best idea. He'd be fine so long as he could keep his shirt on. Harry looked positively terrified and it certainly wasn't the most sensual way to start this.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked softly.

"Yeah." Harry laughed a small laugh and looked at his hands, "I just really don't know what to do."

"What do you want to do?' Draco's voice had taken on a breathy quality, his eyes were wandering over Harry's face, lingering on the scar and then following the subtle arch of his nose down to his mouth.

"I don't know." Harry bit his lip and was instantly reminded of Hermione. "I've never…"

"You've never had sex with a man before?"

"I've never had sex…with anyone." When had this gone from a kiss to sex? Harry didn't know and it didn't matter because Draco was staring at him in a total state of shock.

"But everyone loves you," Draco was wide eyed in amazement, "how could you have made it to 18 a virgin? There must've been a line the length of Diagon Alley and beyond of women wanting to be the one who gave you your first shag!"

Harry was as red as Gryffindor Quidditch robes. 'Dear gods he's serious', Draco thought with no small amount of wonder at it.

"Have you done anything?" There was no derision in Draco's voice, just pure unadulterated amazement.

"No. A few kisses - not good ones," he shrugged, "until last night."

"Wow." Draco felt himself relax considerably. If Harry was a novice, perhaps he wouldn't notice if Draco wasn't so good. Not that Draco was bad in bed, quite the contrary, but he'd never been with a man before and he really had no idea where he was supposed to start. He figured he could just wing it and do to Harry what he'd always liked having done to him.

"So I guess you'd be pretty disappointed with me," Harry was saying, his voice was tinged with a sadness Draco didn't think was possible in the Boy Who Lived. "You've probably done this a lot, huh?"

"Well, I've had sex," Draco conceded, "I think Dad would have died of shame if I'd been a virgin past 15." He laughed affectionately when he mentioned his Father, causing Harry to fidget a little. "I've never been with a man though," he finished.

Harry looked up at Draco uncertainly. They were sitting side by side on the bed, close enough for their shoulders to be touching. Harry leaned in and gently touched his lips against Draco's. The touch was feather light at first and then Draco's hand came up to cup the side of Harry's face gently, long fingers splayed into his hair and over his jaw, the cool palm flat against Harry's cheek. The kiss deepened, their lips crushed together and Harry nearly lost himself in the heady sensation of Draco's tongue running along the inside of Harry's upper lip.

"You taste amazing." Draco whispered when they parted.

"So do you." Harry's voice was strangled, he didn't want this to end. He willed Ron's date to be the best date ever so that he couldn't come back and disturb this.

Draco gently traced the lightening bolt scar on Harry's forehead with the tip of a finger, taking in the raw silk texture of the marred flesh and Harry moaned the softest of moans, barely discernable above the rush of their breathing, but it made Draco smile. Slowly Draco moved away, shifting his long limbs gracefully until he was lying on the bed on his side, his head propped up on his elbow.

"Take your robes off," he breathed, "you have far too many clothes on."

Harry almost choked. He was looking anywhere but at the blonde on the bed. But he had to come back to him in the end. Draco Malfoy, stretched out on the bed, his eyes the color of a swirling storm, every little witches dream and he wanted Harry, who would have died for him. Harry pulled the robes over his head, leaving only his old cutoffs and trainers on his body. Draco watched, enjoying the sudden revelation of Harry's naked torso, his smooth bare back and long toned arms. Steeling his courage, Harry slipped the trainers off and moved to lay down facing Draco.

~

Snape's first thought was that Hermione would faint dead at his feet. She had gone deathly pale and her mouth dropped open. She stumbled, yet when he reached for her she jerked back and there wasn't a single ounce of uncertainty in her expression.

Her glare said plain enough that she was well and truly pissed off and that she wanted nothing to do with him.

His sense of indignation rose but he found himself not entirely sure of what he could say. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face. Regardless of his obvious need to reject her, he was surprised by the sudden rush of protectiveness that he had felt when she stumbled. Up close he could see her huge doe like eyes were differing shade of brown, ringed with the darkest lashes. Her nose tipped up at the end and her small stubborn chin was slightly pointed. There were slight hollows under her cheekbones, giving her a delicate appearance, and her pale skin only added to that image. He had once heard her described as 'plain', but he couldn't see it. Her swollen lower lip made her mouth incredibly sexy, lush and well defined, even if she refused to smile.. or perhaps especially since she refused to smile. He could imagine that mouth performing a multitude of sins on him. A smattering of freckles crossed her nose, she had not tied her hair back today and it hung wildly curly over her shoulders, untamable.

He found himself instantaneously aroused and was thankful for the very nature of robes.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying for an ounce of dignity in the awkward moment, "I thought you were going to faint."

"Well I wasn't," she snapped frowning up at him. The fact was that she had almost toppled over, it was only righteous indignation holding her upright.

"You went pale," he said silkily, his attention resting on her swollen lips for a moment. He envisioned kissing the mulish expression of her mouth and he had to force that image away before he embarrassed himself.

Hermione rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her breasts – small, perfect breasts, he noted. The top of her head barely reached his chin but she still managed to look imposing, possibly because he wanted her so desperately that it hurt.

"I haven't eaten for two days," she said, " I hit my head earlier and you have just insulted me. I think I am entitled to go a little pale."

"I will get you some dinner," he said, thankful for the opportunity to turn away from her. "As for hitting your head, that is hardly my fault."

He mumbled something into the fireplace and almost instantly a plate of sandwiches appeared on his desk. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was until she saw them.

"And I didn't mean to insult you," he said, his tone softened.

"It sounded like you did," she sulked.

"You should have something to eat."

Hermione didn't need to be told twice and he watched as she sat down in his chair, not even bothering to ask him if she could, and began to feast hungrily. He paced around her, watching in an almost predatory manner. She had come here expecting something more than his rejection and he hadn't expected that at all. He hadn't expected to have to reject her. She was supposed to be the one doing the rejecting. That was how it happened in his life.

Right now he was wishing to all that was sacred that she had rejected him because now she had given him a hope of something he couldn't possibly have. His own weakness irritated him. He had always known who he was. He had felt the sting of lost love once before, so long ago now that he should have forgotten it. But he hadn't. He wasn't going to let it happen again. And with a child no less. He felt the shame of it wash over him.

"So," she said, swallowing a mouthful of food, "why were you a total prick to me then?"

He really wasn't accustomed to being addressed as an equal by a student and he was on the verge of telling her so but stopped himself. As unused as he was to this kind of situation, he knew what not to say if he wanted to keep the peace and given last night it was possible she had every right to address him as an equal.

Seeing that she was sitting in his chair he conjured up another and sat opposite her. At that moment his greatest obstacle was to look at her without lust overcoming him. It would be best, he decided, to treat her as an adult and be truthful with her. "I am not used to the niceties required in these situations," he said tersely, "I have to admit that I never expected to have something like this happen. My behaviour last night was unforgivable, taking advantage of you at such a moment was very wrong and I must apologize for it. When you came down here I was fully prepared for you to be humiliated by what happened. I never expected that you would feel otherwise."

"So it took you by surprise then?" She grinned at him.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "you could say that. I knew that I had to ensure that it never happened again and I obviously went about it very badly, I insulted you and I am very sorry for that."

Hermione sat back from the desk and looked at him with a questioning frown. "Why can't it happen again?" she asked.

"Do I have to remind you that you are a student, Miss Granger?"

"So? If the war hadn't happened I'd no doubt be working for the Ministry right now. Would you be so against it if that were the case?"

"If you were working for the Ministry and not here at Hogwarts it would never have happened, Miss Granger."

She snorted impatiently, "Firstly, Professor, you made me orgasm last night, so I think you can call me Hermione now, and second, I am 18 years old and I can make my own decisions. There was nothing wrong with what happened last night."

What really amazed him was that the girl wasn't utterly horrified by the whole incident. The fact that she wanted him was beyond his comprehension. "Actually, there is something wrong with what happened last night," he said, "It was unethical. I could be fired for it."

"Dumbledore wouldn't fire you, not if I explained."

"I am also old enough to be your Father."

"Well," she smiled mischievously, "I don't think of you in a Fatherly way, if that's any consolation." She bit her lip in a way that promised no end of pleasure and his erection pressed painfully against the confines of his trousers.

Hermione was surprised when she was rewarded with a shy smile from her Potions Master. Snape had never struck her as being shy before, then again, he had never struck her as being sexy before either. She found herself wondering what he looked like under the robes.

"Regardless," his throat was dry and sore, "it would be best if we chose not to think about what happened." He lowered his gaze and murmured to himself, "no matter how pleasurable it was."

Hermione heard and smiled.

They settled into silence and were both amazed that it was not awkward. She finished her sandwiches – having to demand that the plate stop refilling itself – and he watched her eat, aching to throw her on the desk and fuck her senseless. She asked if she still needed to go to Filch for detention.

Snape laughed in spite of himself and told her unequivocally that no, she did not have to go to Filch for detention.

She got up, not wanting to leave but knowing that she should. She was enjoying being in his presence, a thought she'd had the previous night came back to her; That when he was not being "Professor Snape" he was actually incredible to be around. He was so still and calm when he wanted to be, the gentle sound of his breathing, his very presence was somehow comforting to her. She could have sat here with him all night. But she could not and it would be best to go now while she could do it without fighting it.

"Thank you for the sandwiches, Professor."

"It was no trouble." He didn't want her to go, he wanted to take her to bed and wrap her up in his arms for the night.

As she moved past him she leaned down to kiss him chastely on the cheek. "Good night, Professor," she whispered and moved to brush his cheek with her lips.

Snape turned his face to hers to reply, not realizing just how close she was to him.

Their mouths met.

~

So now Harry was lying on a bed with Draco Malfoy. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he was sure Draco could hear it, if not see it beating. They stared at each other for a long while, learning the intricacies of each others eyes and wanting more. Harry's mind was screaming out a million incoherent thoughts. He was here, he had never been at this point before, he never thought he would be.

"What would you like me to do?" Draco whispered.

"Anything," Harry breathed in reply.

Draco gently pushed Harry onto his back and leaning over him, he ran his tongue along the sharpness of Harry's collarbone. Harry hissed a sharp intake of breath at the touch that was so unfamiliar to him and yet so craved. This was happening, this was really happening to him, Harry Potter. Draco's tongue gently licked its way up Harry's throat, flicking over his ear lobe and then Draco covered Harry's mouth with his own and began kissing Harry again. He was careful at first, wanting to learn the shape and texture of Harry's lips and to test the sharpness of the teeth behind them.

Harry felt Draco's hands sliding down his body, relishing the touch of warm flesh. Reaching the band of Harry's jeans, Draco slid his hands under the fabric, into the jeans to caress Harry's buttocks. Harry moaned, louder this time, into Draco's mouth.

Harry's erection strained against the the denim of his cut offs and he flushed with embarrassment at his own arousal. He had kept any sign of his own erection, or indeed any indication of arousal at all, hidden away for so long. It was a product of living in a dorm and the repressive life he had lived at the Dursley's, that he now felt shame at his very evident erection. What he had always kept hidden was now nestled snuggly against Draco's hip bone and Draco's own erect cock was pressed hard against Harry's body.

The realization that Draco was as aroused as he was release Harry and gave him an abandon he had never felt before. He sucked Draco's tongue and pulled it deep into his mouth, deliciously aware of the low moan it elicited from Draco. He was so used to the mass of his own tongue that he never noticed it, now that their was the alien feel of another's tongue doing battle with his own he became aware of its' existence like never before. Their tongues twisted around each others, probed each others teeth and gums in a frantic battle of teeth and tongues and lips and spit.

Following Draco's lead, Harry allowed his hands to roam the plains and hollows of Draco's all too clothed body. He made to pull his T-shirt off, wanting to feel Draco's naked chest against his own, but Draco chuckled softly and brushed Harry's hands away, using his clever fingers to tease Harry's nipples, plunging into the unfamiliar nerve endings and creating beams of sensation that traveled through Harry's body, to his brain, his mouth, his belly and his aching balls.

Draco's hand caressed the concavity of Harry's belly, tickling him, causing him to gasp in pleasure, before skidding his hand further down to cup Harry's hard cock through the worn denim of his jeans. Draco's mouth then kissed a slow trail down Harry's chin, along the curve of Harry's throat and the hollow of his collar bone and finally wrapped hot and wet around Harry's nipple. Harry felt his heart lurch, his cock ached and his mind began to dissolve in pleasure.

This is happening, oh Gods this is happening, this is…this…this… th…

Harry choked back a mouthful of saliva and suddenly panicked. "Don't," he gasped.

Draco's mouth paused but he did not move it away. He slid his hand up from Harry's cock to the ridge of his hipbone and gently stroked the warm flesh. "Why not?" he asked softly, his voice caught in his own quickness of breath.

"It feels…" Harry's eyes rolled, close to delirium, "It hurts, my stomach hurts."

Draco raised his face to Harry and smiled gently, "A bit of a pleasure overload?"

Harry nodded, trying to take in what he was feeling and staring at Draco, absorbing Draco's beauty. He had never experienced someone giving him pleasure before, he never thought he would. He was suddenly overwhelmed with amazement. He was lying here beneath Draco Malfoy and this was happening and nothing would ever be the same again. It was too much.

"We can slow down." Draco kissed him. "We can just kiss," he kissed Harry again, "Or we can kiss until you want me to do something more." He brushed Harry's lips with his own.

Harry's head swam as he arched his body up into the kiss and bitter voices filled his head telling him that he didn't deserve this, that so many people had died and the only one who truly deserves to be dead was now being pleasured. He was a weapon, he could only destroy those he loved, he had only ever destroyed those he loved. His parents, Sirius, so many of his friends.

Draco lay half on top of him, holding his and kissing him languously and Harry felt a slick tear escape his eye and run down the side of his face and get lost in the tangle of his hair. Draco pulled back and saw the tears and caught them on the tip of his tongue, licking them away, swallowing the darkness for a time.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered, his hands stroking Harry gently and at that moment Harry believed him.

Harry knew that Draco would hurt him in the end though, because this tangle of limbs was far too intimate to be born of anything but love and Harry had desired this for so long. He had no doubt in his mind that he was in love with Draco and he had no doubt in his mind that when this was all over, Draco would forget about it and laugh it off. Harry just wanted this moment. Just this moment to believe that he could possibly be loved, to believe that maybe Draco was a good person, to experience something he had thought would be denied him. He would have been surprised to learn that Draco Malfoy was more than capable of love and that Draco Malfoy was more than capable of loving Harry Potter. It would have surprised him to know these things, but he didn't, so Harry slid into desire with his mind full of doubt, until it became impossible to think of anything save the texture and flavor of Draco's mouth and body.

Draco kissed Harry for the longest time, stroking Harry's body until his own need became urgent. The kisses increased with urgency and passion and Draco moved from Harry's mouth and he was nuzzling Harry's neck and chest again. Harry arched his body up into Draco's hungry mouth and twinned his fingers in Draco's pale, moonlight colored hair. Draco's fingers deftly unbuttoned Harry's jeans, his mouth moved across the concavity of Harry's stomach, pausing just above the band of his pants.

"You ok?" Draco murmured.

"Yes…yes…"

Draco gently tugged Harry's jeans down, sliding them under the curve of Harry's butt and down Harry's toned legs and pulled them away easily. With Harry panting in anticipation, he repeated the process with Harry's cotton boxer shorts and Harry was suddenly aware that he was very, very, naked, his throbbing erection right in front of Draco's face.

Oh Gods, I'm naked, this is happening, this is going to happen, what's he gonna do?

As Harry watched, wide eyed with what could have been fear or wonderment or both, Draco looked up and smiled the most dazzling smile Harry had ever seen and gripping the Shaft in one hand, he kissed the tip of Harry's cock, caressing the head of it with a swirl of his tongue. Harry gasped in choked surprise.

"You'll like this," Draco whispered, "I promise."

Kissing Harry's cock again, Draco began to lick all over the head as though Harry was the best ice cream cone he had ever tasted. Harry was gasping and moaning unintelligible words as Draco licked his lips and took the entire throbbing shaft into his mouth.

Harry cried out almost in anguish at the pleasure of it. His mind began to spin. Suddenly there was no conflict here, no bed beneath him, there was no Ron, no Hermione, no contract, no bitter voices speaking to him in the dark. Hell, he wasn't even the Boy Who Lived anymore. There was only Draco, and the narrow wet tunnel of Draco's mouth surrounding him and Draco's energetic tongue tracing patterns on the underside of his cock. Harry's hips bucked up into Draco's waiting hands and he could hear a voice he recognized vaguely as his own crying "Draco, Draco, Draco..." into the air of the room.

It was as though every nerve of his body had sprung to attention. His scalp, the palms of his hands, even the tips of his toes tingled. He was beading with sweat, his hips thrusting up in gentle motions into Draco's mouth, his moans becoming increasingly urgent. Harry felt his body cresting, he couldn't hold on and he tried to push Draco away, but Draco persisted.

"I…" he opened and closed his mouth, struggling to get words out, "I'm coming…. I'm coming..."

Draco kept working him, not caring, relishing the intimate taste of Harry's body.

Harry tried desperately to hold on, not wanting to come in Draco's mouth. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, he didn't want Draco to hate him. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but nothing could over ride the feeling of Draco working his mouth up and down Harry's swollen shaft.

His thoughts were cut short because his peripheral vision shut down and everything went white as he came, crying Draco's name out over and over. A year's pain seemed to leave him as he came, ebbing from his balls, leaking from his eyes and expelling from his lungs in short harsh gasps.

~

Snape knew full well he should have pulled away. He should have pushed her gently; he should have excused himself and left. He should have, but he didn't.

After the accidental touch of lips they both moved apart, frozen, faces only inches from each other. Hermione waited, holding her breath while Snape considered what he should and shouldn't do.

His fingertips touched her jaw, suspending all thought. Gently he tilted her chin and she was suddenly filled with the heat of his gaze. She saw gentleness in those eyes, incongruous with his fearsome demeanor, an intriguing contrast to everything that she knew of him. He is full of secrets, she thought, he hides his beauty inside.

His eyes closed and she closed hers instinctively and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the kiss. Then she felt it, a brief heated touch of his mouth on her own. His breath was hot on her cheek and he moved his lips slightly, coasting over hers, teasing her mouth with the lightest of touches.

She wanted to touch him, to put her hands on him and feel that body beneath the multitude of robes. When gliding down the corridors the Professor seemed to consist entirely of billowing robes, it was easy to forget that there was a body under there, a body she wanted to discover and explore.

Slowly he pulled away, just enough to put space between them, but not enough that she couldn't feel the heat that positively radiated from him. She opened her eyes and found him watching her, his gaze intense and dark. She opened her mouth to speak but he laid a finger over her lips.

"Don't" he said, "not yet."

Feeling numb she nodded and leaned in again to find his mouth. The heady scent of him filled her and she felt drunk and anxious and hot. His tongue slid along her bottom lip and nudged her mouth open and explored the edge of her teeth. Nothing moved on either of them save their mouths. Their hands stayed motionless, as though the rest of their bodies were paralyzed.

He moaned low with pleasure and want and the sound brought him back to himself. He jerked back from her, the spell broken.

She straightened and they stared at each other, sharing looks of amazement and wonder. They were stone cold sober and their kisses still felt and tasted so very good. They still wanted each other. How could this be happening? How could they find each other so inextricably attractive?

"I'm sorry," she whispered and her voice was harsh to her ears, "I…I will leave you now."

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. In a whisper that rasped from deep in his throat he said, "Goodnight Hermione."

She wanted to explain, to tell him that this couldn't possibly be a bad thing. She was not a child and student or no, she knew what she wanted. Instead she looked to the door and said, "Goodnight Severus."

As she walked from the room she turned back to him. She saw his head drop back in the chair, both hands over his eyes like a man in desperate pain.

She closed the door behind her.

~

Draco crawled up and lay his head on the pillow next to Harry's, purring very much like a contented cat. His lips were swollen and smudged with traces of Harry's semen and he seemed to glow, the light sheen over his skin making him seem a luminous being to Harry who was in a state of bliss.

"Oh my God," Harry said at last. He felt exhausted, as though he had played a fifteen hour game of Quidditch and as happy as if it had been the World Cup and he'd won. "Oh my God," he said again. He could believe it had been like that. He couldn't believe it could be that mind numbingly good.

Draco propped his head up on his elbow to look at Harry, lying naked on his bed, eyes glazed in post orgasmic bliss. If someone had ever told Draco that this was where his relationship with Potter would end up, he would have hexed them for being insanely stupid.

"Good?" Draco asked and Harry nodded wordlessly, his mouth open in amazement. Draco kissed him again then, sweeping his tongue over Harry's teeth and lips and Harry could taste his own come mingled sweetly with the unique taste of Draco's saliva. Draco's hardness pressed against his thigh and alerted Harry to the fact that Draco had not yet come.

"Do you…Do you want me to suck you too?" Harry asked, suddenly shy.

Draco laughed and stroked Harry's cheek. He kissed Harry again, relishing Harry's mouth and willing tongue. "No," he whispered, moving his mouth to Harry's ear, "not yet. I wanted you to feel what it was like."

"I want to," Harry gasped as Draco's tongue flicked over his earlobe, " I want to pleasure you too."

Draco tensed suddenly and pulled away. He sat up. "Not tonight," he said tightly, "maybe another time."

Harry frowned as Draco slipped off the bed and wrapped his arms around himself as though cold, shutting Harry out entirely.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his voice quivered slightly and he cursed himself for it.

"Nothing," Draco replied, not looking at Harry, still standing there holding himself.

Harry blinked, what had gone wrong? He had thought Draco would want to be touched, that he would want Harry to do everything he had done to him. Draco wanted none of it. He didn't want Harry to touch him at all. Harry grew cold and horribly aware he was naked. He shivered and fumbled for his robes, desperate to get out of there and the cold feeling of isolation that was enveloping him.

Harry's movements snapped Draco back to the moment. He dropped his arms and turned back to the bed, seeing Harry trying to reach his robes. "Are you cold?" Draco asked quickly, "I'll get the fire started. I cast a warming spell earlier but it must've worn off." He began pulling blankets over Harry, fussing about making him comfortable before hurrying over to the fire.

Harry was now well and truly confused. Draco lit the fire and came back to the bed carrying extra pillows. He then set about re-arranging the bedding to make room for Harry to sleep comfortably. Was this some kind of etiquette? After you have sex with someone you are supposed to make sure they are comfortable so that they don't hate you so much when you reject them the next day? Draco didn't want Harry to touch him at all, Harry would rather leave right now.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Is something wrong?"

"No why?" Draco spoke to quickly, he sounded detached, absent somehow.

"Do you have a problem with me touching you?" Harry's insecurities had surfaced in full force. Did Draco think he would hurt him? "You don't want me to touch you?"

"I…" Draco looked away.

Harry panicked, so it was true, Draco didn't want to be touched by some second rate hero who didn't know how to die when he should. Post orgasmic and emotional, Harry inexplicably wanted to cry. "I-I-I-I know," he stammered, his voice choking on the tears that threatened. His mind reeled and all the dark voices insinuated themselves again and engulfed him. Even now, after all this, Draco couldn't bare to have Harry touch him. Harry was nothing but destruction, he didn't deserve this, not when so many people who were dead when they should have been alive to experience the same pleasures.

"I know," he said again, trying to clear his voice and not succeeding, "I know I'm nothing, b-but I d-didn't mean to l-l-live, but I d-did and…," he couldn't stop the tears from coming, he felt foolish, unlovable, helpless, "I c-c-can try to b-be something you w-would want b-but I don't know how. I c-can t-try, I-I can." He covered his face with his hands and burst into tears, unreasonable tears from his fragile soul, "I didn't mean to live…I didn't…I…"

Draco rushed to the bed and pulled Harry to him, pushing Harry's head into the hollow of his shoulder and burying his face in Harry's messy black hair. "It's not like that," Draco whispered fiercely. "Don't ever think that, don't you ever think that."

Harry cried into Draco's shoulder, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Draco and feeling their bodies interlock with each other, as though they were two pieces of the same puzzle. Draco's body felt to Harry like a reflection of his own and they were melting together, like wax made too hot by flame.

What did they do to him? Draco thought, holding Harry tight and inhaling the scent of his hair. How could he think that he should not have survived? How could he possibly believe that?

"I do want you to touch me," Draco murmured, "but the war…"

Harry pulled back a little and looked up into Draco's gray eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, don't you be sorry." Draco looked troubled, as though trying to work out what to do, how to approach this. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't start the war and if it wasn't for you the outcome could have been far worse than it was. Even I know that. So stop all this bullshit about not believing you should have lived. Anyone who thinks that is a fool."

"Then why don't you want me to touch you?"

Draco frowned and Harry felt him tense again but he didn't pull away this time. "It's me," Draco said reluctantly, "I don't want you to see me. You might not like what you see."

Harry remembered the game of Quidditch in the rain so long ago and the flat expanse of Draco's belly that had driven him wild and caused him to question everything he knew about sex and attraction. There was no way he didn't want to see that again. "Do you have the Dark mark on you? Is that it?" If it was, would Harry be able to stand it? He didn't know if he could deal with the fact that Draco had been a Death Eater.

Draco laughed bitterly. "No. It's nothing like that." He sat for a moment, trying to find his courage. He spent years as Harry's enemy and in the space of a day so much had changed. He had just made love to the Wizarding worlds hero and he was not the kind of person who called it 'love making' lightly. He knew the difference between a fuck and a real connection. He had just swallowed Harry's cum – as far as Draco was concerned, this was more than a passing fuck. He took a deep breath, stole what courage he could find and pulled the t-shirt over his head.

~

Snape stormed down the deserted corridors towards the Staff Room, knowing full well he was late and not really caring at all. He had other things to worry about, he didn't want to spend what remained of his evening meeting the new Sports Master. As far as he was concerned, any idiot could teach a bunch of Children to ride a broomstick, and the Quidditch teams taught themselves. He saw no real need to fill the position at all. The only thing Hooch had been good for was being a referee and any number of people here could do that.

Snape was not much of a sportsman. Having learned very early on that he was going to have his skinny ass whipped on the Quidditch pitch he chose to secret himself in study instead. Not that it stopped him from watching the sport, he had to at least watch Slytherin play, he was head of house after all. He had also learned to referee, more out of a desire to prove he could actually fly and fly well than any major interest in doing it. Not being a sportsman, he had little respect for anyone who was. He hated Sports teachers. Their entire lives revolved around broomsticks and quaffles and "Did you see such and such catch that Snitch, best catch of the year I'd say." Merlin save him from that.

He wondered if Hermione was back in her chamber yet. Getting ready for bed. In his mind he wrapped her in the finest silk nightgown that slid over her slight curves and accentuated the hardness of her nipples (the reality of her comfortable Winnie the Pooh Flannel pajamas and bed socks would have horrified him). He imagined what it would be like to actually sleep next to her. Would she disturb his sleep? He doubted it. She was such a little thing, he could just curl around her. He was smiling like an idiot at the thought and he quickly wiped the smile from his face as he reached the Staff Room door.

Forgetting about the newly oiled hinges on the door, Snape shoved it too hard and as a result it banged against the wall loudly, knocking down a picture which landed on the floor with an indignant thud.

All eyes turned to stare at him.

He could have said sorry, instead he sneered, letting everyone know he didn't want to be there in the company of his peers. He glared at Sinistra and Fat Professor Sprout who had sequestered themselves by the fire in Snape's usual chair. Sinistra returned his glare and curled her lip into a sneer of her own, Sprout shuffled uncomfortably and only stayed put after Sinistra told her to stop fidgeting. Minerva caught his eye and broke into a mischievous smile, causing almost every one there to wonder what in hell she saw in the self satisfied bastard.

"Severus, you made it, I do hope you are feeling better."

"Tolerable," he growled.

"Good, good." She bustled over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, steering him to a seat next to hers. "How did you pull up this afternoon then?" she whispered, "I meant to bring you up some dinner but I lost track of time."

"I am fine. Thank you for getting me to bed, interesting choice of bed clothes."

She spread her hands, feigning innocence, "I couldn't find anything else. Don't tell me you sleep in the nude."

If he hadn't been in the staff room he would have smiled. "So, where is he then? I want to get back to bed."

Minerva rolled her eyes, "you only just woke up."

"I have been awake for some time, I have been marking essays."

"Very productive."

"I think so."

She sighed and put him out of his misery. Leaving him for a moment she returned with a young, surly looking man with intense dark eyes and a look on his face that threatened some kind of physical violence. He was also sickeningly familiar and Snape felt his stomach plummet.

"Viktor, this is Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house and Professor of Potions here at Hogwarts. Severus, this is our new Sports Master, Viktor Krum."

~

Harry looked at the smooth pale body before him. The contours of Draco's chest and stomach were lean and toned and caused Harry's breath to hitch in his throat. A dusting of hair, slightly darker than the hair on his head trailed from his navel into the low slung band of his pajama pants.

Dear Gods, he's perfect. Harry almost began to pant as he absorbed the utter perfection before him. He wanted to kiss Draco's chest, lick and worry those small pink nipples. Draco smiled sadly at Harry's reaction and slowly, hesitantly, he shifted positions, turning his back to Harry. He closed his eyes, winced and fought back tears of his own as he heard Harry gasp again, but it wasn't a gasp of awe this time.

Harry stared in horror at Draco's back. What was once, no doubt, as perfect as the font was now a mass of dark purple scars. Some kind of acid, it had to be, Harry could see the splatter marks. What ever it was must have had some kind of mind of its own because scars that looked like long tendrils radiated out from the original splatters, causing a web of long purple furrows in the pale skin. The scars disappeared into his pants, so they went lower, and they weren't that old. Less than a year. They looked raw and ugly and fresh. It must have happened just before the end of the war, or after it had finished.

"Did Voldemort do this to you?" Harry demanded.

"No," Draco said quietly, "and neither did my Father, if that is your next question."

"Then who?" Harry reached over and touched Draco's back and Draco flinched, but not with pain.

"No one," Draco muttered, "no one important, don't worry about it, it's passed."

Harry went to say something, possibly to demand a more satisfying answer, but he stopped himself and made a decision he would never have made a year ago. He decided not to pursue it. If Draco wanted to tell him he would and maybe, later on, he would tell Harry without much prompting. Harry was going to accept that something had happened, something bad and to do with the war, and he would find out later. For now, Harry was gong to pull his blonde lover into bed and thank every god he could think of that he was here because he never thought he would be. Pulling Draco back against his chest he kissed Draco's throat and rested his chin on Draco's shoulder.

"The war left lots of scars," he said carefully, "Some you can see, others you can't." He nuzzled Draco's neck, "I still want to touch you."

Draco smiled and craned his face around to Harry's. "Not yet, it's too soon."

"Do you think it ever goes away?" Harry spoke against Draco's shoulder, kissing the top of Draco's shoulder blade.

"The scars?" Draco frowned.

"No, the War. The memories. The pain of it all."

"'Only the dead have seen the end of war.'" Draco whispered.  
~ ~ ~


	11. Flight of Angels

**Chapter 7** ****

 **FLIGHTS OF ANGELS**

Rooms at the Hogs Head could be rented on an hourly basis; in fact that was how the landlord preferred to do business. The two people in room seven had been in there for almost three hours and as the landlord watched the hourglass spill over, he waited with greedy anticipation of the profit forthcoming. For this was a man who loved to make a profit, even if it was long past closing time and his wife had called him to bed.

The girl in room seven lay panting on the threadbare bed. Her breathless cries rose to a fevered pitch as the man whose face was firmly planted between her thighs urged her on to orgasm. Her hips quivered and bucked up into his sweating palms.

"George, oh Gods, George!"

Shit.

The man stilled and wondered what would follow.

He didn't have to wait long as a tiny whimper escaped her throat and then, the distinct sound of sobbing.

Ron slowly lifted his head from between his Sister-in-laws thighs, caught her horrified look and her tears began again in earnest.

"Oh Ron, I am so sorry," Angelina rasped.

As well she should be, Ron had worked damn hard to get to this point. He had been the sympathetic ear and shoulder to cry on for the past month – sympathized, when Angelina explained her suspicions that George was having an affair; consoled her, and then spent the last 24 hours grappling with the guilt associated with lusting over his brother's wife. He had spent his entire month's allowance and, ironically, most of the money Fred an George had sent for emergencies, on bringing her here, paying for her drinks and of course the room, only to have her scream his brothers' name just as he had achieved her orgasm.

Ron pressed a kiss to the inside of Angelina's thigh, which served only to make her flinch and her tears worsened. Ron sighed and made every effort to be tender as he extricated himself from their rather intimate position.

Angelina sat up and turned away from him, presenting him with the lightly tanned curve of her back. He smiled at the exquisite sight, but accepted that nothing else would be happening this evening. Not that there was any harm in trying, of course. Groping around on the floor for his robes, he found a somewhat clean handkerchief and offered it to her. Angelina snatched at the linen and blew her nose inelegantly.

"I'm sorry Ron," she sniffed again, "I really thought I could do this, I am so sorry."

Ron tried to smile reassuringly. "Well, these things happen, eh?" He caressed her shoulder gently and tried to pull her to him, "why don't you come here?"

Angelina shook her head and pulled away. "no, Ron, I can't."

"Ange," he said, trying to sound seductive and not as supremely disappointed as he felt, "let me hold you honey. Remember - HE cheated on YOU." In truth, Ron highly doubted that George had cheated on Angelina. Knowing George, and the fervour by which he worked his business, Ron surmised that he had simply neglected the needs of his wife. It also didn't help that George and Fred went out most nights of the week. Angelina wanted a quiet home life, George wanted to have fun. Ron saw it as a by-product of marrying too young. He felt a surge of guilt at being here trying to get his brother's naked wife back into bed, but quickly pushed it aside. "You owe it to yourself to finish this."

Angelina turned her head to peer over her shoulder at him, the tears dried up remarkably quickly. "Trust me on this Ron," she said wryly, "we are well and truly finished." She padded across the floor to her robes and fished out a packet of cigarettes. She offered him one, which he declined, then she stuck one in her mouth and lit up.

"So what now?" Ron asked.

"I don't know." She sounded irritated and began to pace and smoke furiously, "we go home I suppose."

Ron wished she would put some clothes on, pacing around the room naked was doing nothing to stop his very evident arousal. He needed to get out of there and he wondered exactly how to do so without looking like a total prick.

"You're not going to tell George are you?' He asked warily.

"What? Do you think I am insane? What did you think I was going to say? 'Sorry I didn't come home for dinner honey, I was out fucking your little brother'!" She inhaled her cigarette and her face was hard. At that moment Ron could find nothing attractive about her at all and he wondered how he got himself into this. Come to think of it, why was she so mad at him? This had been her idea. She had asked him to come to the Hogs Head, she had suggested the room. He had just gone along like a fool.

He was grasping for an excuse and he knew it. He began to pull his robes on. "Well," he said, "technically we didn't actually fuck so you don't have to feel like you cheated or anything."

She gave him a withering stare and made no attempt to get dressed. "Go back to Hogwarts Ron," she said, "don't worry, I'm not going to tell your brother what _you_ did."

What he did? What about what she did? "Thanks a heap," he said nastily, "but just remember who invited who here."

"Yeah, I remember." she blew smoke into his face. "Now fuck off back to school like a good little boy."

He didn't bother saying goodbye. He just shoved past her on the way out the door and threw some Galleons at the Landlord for the room. If she wanted to stay for longer she could pay for it herself. Angry at himself for his betrayal, he headed back to the castle and his own bed.

When he got there he discovered he had the smallest of rosebuds on the contract.

Harry wasn't in his bed and he had the biggest rosebud Ron had ever seen. It still wasn't a full rose, but it was damned close. He wondered where in hell Harry actually was but decided that wherever he was he must be having fun and climbed into bed, happy, scared and annoyed that one of them was having a bit of success with this deal.

~

Hermione wrapped her robes a little tighter around her body and shivered as she made her way from the dungeons back to the tower. She had been wandering for longer than she realized. After leaving Snape's office she had gone to the Potion's classroom and sat there for a while, staring at his desk and trying to recollect every Potion's class she had ever had, and trying to work out just how it could possibly happen that she could have fallen for him. In her very first class he had scared her half to death and called her a silly girl (she had lost track of how many times those words had escaped his lips) and yet even then there had been something in the way he spoke. If she cut through the insults she could detect a passion as he described the allure of a bubbling cauldron. She wondered if it could be his own personal Sirens call.

She hadn't seen it then of course, she was too busy being afraid of him and likening him to a large malevolent rat. Now she danced the fine line between pleasure and pain. She felt overwhelmingly sexually frustrated. She had never experienced the sensation before, she had never felt the longing associated with it, the unfulfilled need, but then she had never been touched before either; at least not like he had touched her. She felt a rush of blood to her clitoris and a pleasant wave washed through her pelvis. She ground her thighs together for a moment, hoping to try and relieve a little of the tension and ache that had built up in her groin but it did no good.

From the doorway of the classroom she had seen him leave his office and storm up the stairs at full speed and from there she had started to wander. It had taken her two hours to get from the Dungeons to the door of the Common Room and now she felt cold for the first time since she'd left him. Thoughts of getting to her bed began to seep into her brain and the idea was suddenly enticing and wonderful. She crossed the quiet Common Room and slipped into her chamber.

Lavender looked up as Hermione entered their room. She was seated on her own bed, cross-legged with papers surrounding her. Hermione could not help but feel some dismay, Lavender had obviously decided to study in bed, which meant that Hermione was either going to have to try and sleep with the light on or actually have a conversation with her room mate. She wasn't sure which was the more unpleasant of the available options.

It wasn't that Hermione disliked Lavender. It was simply that she had no interest in the pretty girl who was being forced to share her room. Lavender seemed to exist on an entirely different level to Hermione. She was pretty and popular and remarkably sociable. Lavender could hold court wherever she was, be it a corner in the Three Broomsticks, or a cubicle in a toilet. Hermione on the other hand found herself completely out of her depth in such situations, preferring the intimacy of a small group of friends, or by herself with a good (?complex) problem to solve. Lavender put a lot of stock in what she termed _'Girly Chats'._ Hermione was never included in such chats; in fact, Hermione had never had a _'Girly Chat'_ in her life, not even with Ginny.

Lavender smiled sweetly at Hermione and closed her textbook. "Hello Hermione, I haven't seen you since this morning, how do you feel?"

Hermione felt herself start to go bright pink. She had forgotten that Lavender was the one to find her and get her to bed. "I…" she bit her lip. "Um, look, thanks for getting me to bed this morning, it meant a lot to me."

"Think nothing of it." The overly sweet smile was still fixed on Lavender's face. "So, where have you been so late?"

"Um…" the flush became slightly pinker. "I had detention."

"Really?" Lavender suddenly looked positively thrilled, "With Professor Snape?"

"Yes." Hermione forced her voice to remain neutral and she made a great fuss of getting to her bed and searching out her pajamas, "I didn't get everything finished last night, so I had to go back." She couldn't see her pajamas anywhere. "Have you seen my pajamas?"

"I put them in your drawer." Lavender said dismissively as she continued. "Well, I am amazed that Professor Snape was able to see you for detention tonight, after all, he was very sick this morning."

"Oh?" Hermione spun around in spite of all the promises she had made to herself to be cool and calm.

"Oh yes." Lavender was enjoying this too much. "All of his classes today were cancelled. You must've had a fair amount to drink, I mean, the poor man was a mess."

Hermione froze and Lavender smiled her sickeningly sweetest at the look of absolute horror on Hermione's face. "I…I don't know what you mean," Hermione stammered.

"Well, I figured to get him into the state he was in at breakfast, the two of you must've drunk enough to slay a dragon." Lavender allowed herself the luxury of a chuckle before adding, "and you must've had some sex as well because you positively reeked of it!"

"I…" Hermione suddenly felt incredibly sick, her legs wobbled and she sat heavily on the side of her bed, "I wasn't with Professor Snape, I don't know what gave you that idea." Of all the things that Hermione Granger did well, lying wasn't one of them. She flushed redder still and began to focus on her increasingly  
wringing hands.

Lavender burst into sudden gleeful laughter. "Oh come on Granger, get over yourself, I'm not going to tell anyone."

"I don't know what you're talking about" Hermione insisted helplessly. How did she know? How did Lavender know?

Lavender sighed, rolled her eyes and went to Hermione's bed and dropped herself down beside her roommate. "Listen," Lavender said cheerfully, "I may not have your incredible mental capacity, but I'm not completely stupid. All I have going for me, aside from a fairly average ability with Magic and Divination, is my sense of smell. Professor Snape usually smells really good…. And I mean _really_ good. You wouldn't think it to look at him, but he probably smells the best out of all the teachers and most of the students in this place. He smells of Sandalwood and Patchouli and this really complex under tone of flowers and potions. It's a great scent, I would love to know how he makes it because I reckon I could sell it by the pint. You normally smell like this weird Muggle perfume, shampoo and soap set that says it is Ylang Ylang and Orange blossom but smells nothing like it. Anyway, this morning you smelled like some awful aniseedy alcohol substance, vomit, your weird muggle fragrance set, Sandalwood, Patchouli and a very unique scent that I will call your sex."

Hermione blanched and stared at Lavender in horror, wondering exactly what was coming next.

"And this morning Professor Snape smelled like Sandalwood and Patchouli and his flowery potions smell, the aniseedy alcohol smell, your Muggle fragrance and, the crowning glory, your sex." Lavender grinned triumphantly, "I rest my case."

Hermione sat with her mouth open in awe and wondered if she was the first person to ever be caught out because of the smell of her body. Lavender Brown should really give up on her idea of going into the perfume business, she should become an Auror, sniffing out crime with her almighty nose!

"Well?" Lavender asked impatiently.

"Well what?" Hermione's voice was a little hoarse.

"Well, what was he like?"

"Nothing happened," Hermione mumbled and blushed. She really was a terrible liar.

"The big love bite on your neck suggested otherwise, good job of getting rid of it by the way."

Damn that infernal bite! She seemed to recall that it felt incredible when he was giving it to her, but it appeared that there was no one who hadn't seen the damn thing!

"He…" She gnawed at her mouth, "We didn't have sex or anything," she said hastily.

Lavender squealed and clapped her hands. Throwing herself back onto Hermione's bed and her eyes wide she said, "Ok, tell me what did happen – and don't be short on the details."

"I…He…We…" Hermione looked at Lavender and felt a small, mischievous smile spread across her face. She turned and pulled her legs up onto the bed, faced her roommate and prepared to have the first _'Girly Chat_ ' of her life.

~

Harry opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a neck in extreme close up. Messy blonde hair lay silky and haphazard against pale skin and the neck curved down into a lean muscled shoulder. The flesh of that shoulder was marred with raw purple scars, the rest of the body was nestled cozily into the curve of his own.

The room was light and for a moment Harry was certain that they had both overslept, but one look at the old style Grandfather clock Draco had in the corner showed that it was just after three in the morning. They had gone to sleep with the lighting spell still in effect. He was going to put the light out and go back to sleep, but in the yellow light Harry could see him.

Draco.

Draco peacefully asleep and nestled into Harry's body. Harry's arm was wrapped heavily over Draco's body and he was amazed that the slow rise and fall of Draco's breathing hadn't kept him awake. In fact, despite the short few hours of sleep he felt better rested than he had in years. He was lost for a while in the glorious intimacy of the body cocooned against his own. In sleep Draco was vulnerable and yet he lay there trustingly, his fist half curled on the pillow, his lips slightly parted, his eyelashes splayed over his cheek. Even the feel of his feet, one of which was resting between Harry's ankles, seemed so incredibly intimate that Harry felt a surge of emotion rush through him. He ran his hand up Draco's arm and caressed the firm mass of Draco's shoulder.

Gods, this was the most incredible thing. Draco's body was wonderfully warm and Harry had never felt so relaxed and comfortable. Under his hand he felt Draco's shoulder move and he marveled at the sensation of the muscles shifting liquidly and the bones rotating in their sockets. The texture of Draco's skin under his hand was soft and smooth and he felt Draco's spine arch and ripple against his chest. He smiled and reached up to stroke Draco's silky hair.

Draco rolled onto his back and lay sleeping for a moment. Harry propped his head up and watched his lover sleep, taking in the clear brow, the gentle arc of his nose, the way his long lashes lay against his cheek and the sensual mouth whose lips were slightly parted. Then, as though aware he was being watched, Draco's brow creased into a small frown and he blinked his eyes open.

They stared at each other, unspeaking for what could have been hours before Harry whispered, "hi," to him.

"Hello," came the sleepy reply. Draco stretched a little and stifled a yawn, "what time is it?"

"Early, just after three."

Draco did frown then and rolled towards Harry, throwing an arm around Harry's waist and nestling his face into Harry's arm pit, "It's too early," he pouted and seemed on the verge of sinking back into a deep sleep.

Harry looked down at the mass of blonde hair and wanted nothing more than to snuggle back down into the bed with him, "I have to go," he said reluctantly.

Draco tensed and lifted his head, "why?"

"I…Ron…" Harry really didn't know what he wanted to say, something about Ron, but he was looking at Draco's face and sleep mussed hair and relishing the warmth of the body beside him. Without hesitation he pushed Draco back into the pillows and rolled on top of him. "Do you mind?" he asked, leaning down and kissing Draco gently, running the tip of his tongue over soft lips. He didn't know where he had found this sudden rush of daring, he would never have presumed to have done this yesterday. Then again, a lot had happened since yesterday.

"Do I mind what? You leaving or you kissing me?"

"I have to leave. Do you mind me kissing you?"

"No, kissing is good." Draco gently guided Harry's head back down for another kiss, nudging teeth apart with his tongue and feasting hungrily on Harry's mouth.

Oh this was the best way to wake up ever. Harry felt as though he had died and gone to heaven. Draco's body beneath him was incredible, a complex mass of nerves, blood, thoughts, emotions, bones and muscles all held willing captive in Harry's embrace. Harry kissed his chest tentatively, tasting the salty sweat and milky white flesh on the lean muscular torso. He ran his tongue over Draco's collarbone, down one firm pec until finally, he grazed Draco's nipple with the edge of his teeth.

Draco half moaned, half laughed and stretched out under Harry's mouth. "That's nice," he whispered.

Harry smiled and gently closed his teeth on the small pink bud.

"Oh fuck," Draco gasped.

"Did I hurt you?" Harry asked quickly.

"Gods no, don't stop!"

Harry chuckled. He sucked at the bud, nipped it a little harder and then harder still, testing Draco, making him groan and writhe and gasp his appreciation. Harry stroked and kissed a path down over Draco's ribs to the flat plain of Draco's stomach, flicking his tongue into the hollow of his navel and causing webs of gooseflesh to spread over the expanse of pale flesh. He fumbled with the drawstring of Draco's pajama pants - he seriously doubted that Draco had even heard of elastic in waist bands – and pulled the silk pants down, leaving Draco naked beneath him.

Harry sat back for a moment, taking in his first sight of Draco Malfoy naked. He had seen naked guys before. You don't go to a boarding school for seven years without seeing your friends naked, they shared bathrooms after all, but he had never really looked before. Draco's long legs were toned and pale and dusted with blonde hair slightly darker than the hair on his head. Harry could see tendrils of the purple scars twisting around the top of his right thigh and his right knee. For a moment he focused on them, in his mind and with crystal clarity he thought that he was going to find who did this, find who hurt him, and he was going to kill them. Then he lay down and brushed his lips against Draco's perfect cock.

Draco's cock felt similar to his own and as Harry ran his fingers along the slightly textured shaft he savored the feel of it. He cupped his hand around it as though it were something incredibly fragile and kissed the smooth head. It was as smooth as rose petals and Harry rubbed his thumb across it, squeezing gently and smearing juices over the tip. He could see the blood suffusing the tissue just beneath the head, coloring it a dusky rose, darker at it's centre. Harry licked at the pre-cum and heard Draco forcefully suck air in through his teeth and then a small cry escape from him. This was intimate and raw and incredible, as though he was holding someone's heart in his hands.

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows and watched as Harry's pink lips parted, so much like he had fantasized that they would, and Harry carefully took Draco's cock deep into his throat.

It was awkward at first. Draco's cock filled his mouth, pushing his tongue back and going too far down his throat. He almost gagged, but forced the reflex down, willing his throat to relax and open.

Draco closed his eyes and let his head drop back. This was too good and he knew he wasn't going to last long. He had wanted to come since last night and now, with Harry's mouth wrapped around him, he was so close to the edge he was amazed he was still going. He didn't want this glorious sensation to end. Harry's fingers were tickling his balls, the downy hairs at the juncture of his thighs, caressing his hips. Draco let those fingers go anywhere they wanted to go.

"Oh Gods, fuck, Harry…" he groaned urgently, collapsing back into the pillows and plunging his hands into Harry's messy black hair. He was going to come. He could feel it. He couldn't stop it. He was moaning and crying out "I'm gonna come" over and over again. His body was cresting.

Harry focused on moving his mouth over Draco's cock, listening to Draco's cries and knowing that Draco was close to the edge.

I want this, he thought, I want him to come, I want to be the one who caused it, I want him to.

"Harry," Draco was crying out, "Harry, Harry, Har…ah…ah…ahhhhhhh"

Draco came, hard, all intentions of pulling out of Harry's mouth gone as soon as he had started to thrust up in orgasm.

Harry gagged and forced his throat to work and swallow the semen that Draco had deposited there. He coughed a little and wondered if he would ever get used to that. He hoped so. He hoped he would get the chance to get used to it. He lifted his gaze back to Draco who was lying in the pillows staring at the ceiling with a blissful smile playing on his lips.

"Was it ok?"

Draco burst into laughter at the absurdity of the question. How could that have not been ok? "It was incredible."

Harry crawled up to kiss Draco, to feel Draco's lips soft and warm against his own.

"I don't want to go," Harry whispered.

"I don't want you to go."

They kissed each other again, lightly at first but as their tongues met and twinned around each other it became more urgent, they pushed their bodies hard together, their hand grasping at each other in ways that would leave tiny bruises on the pale flesh.

"You taste so good," Draco whispered.

"So do you," Harry gasped. He didn't want to go, he wanted to curl up here in this bed with this man and sleep long into the morning, but he had to go, he had to get back to his own chamber. As much as he wanted to stay here until daybreak, he didn't want to try and explain why he was sneaking out of Draco Malfoy's bedchamber to all and sundry. Draco understood this. They both knew the delicacy of the situation. Draco sat up and self-consciously pulled a silk bathrobe over his scarred body.

Harry sighed, reluctant to let this end and then swung his legs out of the bed, pulling his boxers on, his cut-offs, and his robes.

"Will you come back tonight?" Draco's voice was quiet, a little uncertain and he clutched his robe around him defensively.

Harry could have danced a jig for joy. "Yes," he said. He couldn't think of anything else to say, he wanted to scream "yes" from the rafters.

"Come late," Draco smiled, "and wear your invisibility cloak, I want you to stay the night and I don't want the Weasel finding out and hexing me for defiling you."

Harry grinned and after a moments hesitation he gave Draco a none to hasty kiss good-bye, letting their tongues meet and caress, before reluctantly taking his leave.

~

He hadn't known she would be there.

He had looked for her, made it his job to find her, but eventually he knew that she was too well warded against him and he had given her up as lost. It hadn't occurred to him that she would still be at school, but here she was.

Viktor Krum pushed himself further back into the stone corner of the bathroom, knowing that he shouldn't worry, she wouldn't be able to see him. Hermione Granger dropped her towel and bag on the floor beside the pool, yawned and turned on the taps.

The Sprout woman had told him she was still there. Not knowing about their history, the Professor had praised Miss Granger's skills in Herbology. A few questions later and he knew where to find her. They were all still here, all three of them. He had gone to the Common Room to find her, not knowing exactly what he was going to say to her but perhaps hoping to give her forewarning that he was there, so that she didn't choke on her breakfast. She wasn't there, it was dark and deserted and so he used one of his manifold talents and disappeared from view and waited until she awoke.

He watched Harry come out of one corridor looking sleep mussed and satisfied and disappear through another door. It would be another two hours before anyone else disturbed the silence. He even managed to get some sleep. Then a door had opened, waking him, and she appeared.

He should have made his presence known then, either that or he should have left. Instead he followed her to the bathroom.

Krum was unaccustomed to the luxury of Hogwarts. Durmstrang had been cruder an colder. He had found the bathroom attached to his own quarters to be extravagant, then he saw this bathroom and he couldn't comprehend it. To waste such luxury on students seemed ludicrous. A bathtub the size of a small swimming pool was nothing but a waste of water. Of course the students would no doubt share, but it was undoubtedly a luxury that he could never understand.

As if to prove a point about the students sharing, another girl entered the bathroom and began chatting away to Hermione. The seemed to be good friends, both laughing at some private joke. He couldn't hear what they were saying with any clarity, but he didn't want to risk getting any closer.

A trickle of sweat rolled down Krum's spine. He knew he should go, he hadn't taught a class yet and here he was, hiding in the senior girl's bathroom, spying on her. He should go. He had to get her out of his mind, his thoughts, his sight, but as she untied her bathrobe and hung it on a hook, revealing her pale and gloriously naked body, he knew he wasn't going anywhere.

He still had her last letter in his breast pocket. "I don't think we should write to each other any more." She had no idea how those words had tortured him. She had returned his subsequent letters unopened, warding herself against him so that he could search until the end of time and never find her.

But he had. She was here now. He could go up to her, he could reach out and touch her, prove to her that he wasn't to be pushed away so lightly.

The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore, who had shown immeasurable kindness in hiring him, flashed through his mind. Dumbledore believed in honor and he had managed to find it in the most unlikely of places. The scowling Potion's Master for one, Krum knew all about his past, Karakoff might have been a coward but he was also a useful source of information. While Krum knew that hiding in the girl's bathroom and spying on the one girl who had rejected him (and consequently the only girl he wanted) was hardly honorable, he did have full intentions of doing the job he had come to do.

Dumbledore had nothing to worry about on that score, at least Krum hoped so. He wouldn't touch her, he had made a promise to himself. At Hogwarts he was being given a chance he would never have received at home. The war had decimated his country and his former school. They no longer had a Quidditch team worth mentioning and many countries seemed reluctant to take him on, no matter how good he was and despite the fact that he had nothing to do with the Dark Lord or Death Eaters during the war. He would do nothing to jeopardize his position. His job consisted of teaching children to ride broomsticks and the intricacies of various Wizard sports. He would also referee the Quidditch games, something that sent a pang through him because he was aching to play, but which he also accepted as part of the aftermath of war. His path would rarely cross Miss Grangers and he knew how to avoid complications by avoiding her.

Except that he was already complicating things by spying on her, and her friend, in the bath.

Her friend had also removed her robe now and he suspended all thought for a moment while he appreciated the sight of the two women in front of him. Hermione was slight. When he had first met her she was a child and he had thought her tall for her age; it appeared that she hadn't grown an inch. Her body was unremarkable, pale and slender with breasts that were a little too small and hips that didn't swell enough to be truly womanly. Her nipples were small and pink and the hair in the v thrust of her thighs was sparse and unkempt, and the same color as the hair on her head.

By comparison the other girl was taller and prettier, with long dark hair and lightly tanned, supple limbs. She had largish breasts with large pinkish brown nipples that Krum knew would feel like satin on his tongue. The dark hair of her pubis would be thick and luxuriant had it not been waxed to within an inch of its life. She turned and his gaze trailed down over the curve of her hips and over the perfect smooth flesh of her buttocks. Of the two, this girl was the beauty and while Krum could imagine that she would be able to provide ample amounts of pleasure, she did not possess one thing that was essential. She was quite simply not Hermione.

For a fleeting moment he considered what could be done with an Imperius curse right then and there. He pushed that idea away, no use going to Azkaban just because he was horny.

He would keep his distance, he would keep his hands to himself and he would give her privacy.

After the girls had taken a bath.

He figured he could allow himself this much.

~

Hermione left the bathroom with an eerie feeling, almost as though she was being watched. She had heard that Moaning Myrtle had taken a keen interest in the occupants of the boy's bathroom. It seemed only logical that she would decide to take a peek at the girls at some point, so Hermione reasoned that it was probably Myrtle that had unsettled her so. Lavender had agreed, but being more of an exhibitionist that Hermione, she had stretched out at full length and floated happily at the centre of the pool, which is where Hermione left her.

As decidedly creepy as the idea of Myrtle spying on her was, Hermione was not going to worry about it. She figured that the unfortunate ghost had very few pleasures and if she thought about it seriously, she wouldn't mind catching a glimpse of a few of the boys taking a bath. Besides, Hermione had other things on her mind at that moment, like the fact that Lavender had promised to do her hair and makeup this morning.

She was about to walk through the Common Room to her chambers when she felt his presence. It seemed that in the last few days her body had involuntarily tuned itself into him and she looked around just as Professor Snape stepped out of the corridor that lead to Draco's room.

She froze, they both did, paralyzed for a moment as they took in and absorbed each other's presence. They were reasonably close to each other, no more than a few feet apart, Hermione's bedroom door being right next to the corridor's entrance. She reasoned that all she needed to do was take two steps towards him and she could reach out and touch him. Let her hand rest on his chest. Feel his heart beat. Kiss him. Drag him into her room and ward the door so heavily that Lavender would never get in. Throw him on the bed and molest him. She felt herself grow wet and sticky between her thighs.

He was dressed in his usual impenetrable black, but not his school robes. He had on what appeared to be Muggle clothing and once she registered this she almost died from the wonder of it. He was wearing black trousers and shoes and a black woolen jumper that looked soft and tactile and was a little too big for him. In his hand he held a long black coat. Remembering her conversation with Lavender the night before, she took notice of the scent of him. He smelled clean and the Sandalwood scent was not overpowering, indeed it seemed to be more part of his skin than something that was applied to it. His hair was damp, as though he had not showered long before. She took all of these things in, aching to touch him, to feel the wet hair twinned around her fingers, to test the softness of his woolen jumper.

As his eyes raked over her she mentally cursed her Winnie the Pooh obsession. She was wearing her fuzzy Piglet bathrobe and bright orange slippers in the shape of tiger claws that Ron had purchased for her birthday. He had found them in a Muggle store in London and thought they were hilarious. So had she, until she was standing in front of Professor Severus Snape in them. Absently she pulled the towel in which she had wrapped her hair, off her head, and immediately regretted it because the wet curls fell around her shoulders in a frizzy damp mess. Lavender had insisted that Hermione wash it with Lavender's own shampoo and rinse before she could style it.

He had thought he was fine, shocked to see her standing there, instantaneously drawn to her, but fine. He had decided that if he concentrated on the ridiculous fuzzy bathrobe and the Merlin only knew what things that she had on her feet, he could pretend that perhaps it wasn't her. Of course, it was patently obvious that she had nothing under the robe, it parted just enough that he could see a small trace of a thigh, one pale knee and the slight curve of a calf, but if he didn't look there, if he just lifted his gaze a little, away from the bare flesh, then he was just fine. Then she had pulled the towel off her head and all of those wet curls had tumbled down, smelling of Honeysuckle and lilac and frizzing in such a way that made his mouth run dry. He really was not fine, he had to get out of there, the Muggle clothes he was wearing were not as forgiving as robes and he had already masturbated over her once this morning (and last night, just after she left) and seeing her in the flesh (oh Gods, her flesh) was not really helping his cause.

They both let their eyes dart about the room, trying to detect any sign at all of movement or life. Most people were still trying to catch a few last minutes of sleep, those who had ventured to open their doors had seen Professor Snape and closed them again. It was far too early to be confronted with the snaky Potions Master, most would need at least another two hours before that was an option. Lavender had walked out of the bathroom, seen the two of them and turned around and gone straight back in.

So they were alone, anyone could walk out, but at that moment they were alone.

Hermione's heart began to beat in her chest so hard and loud that she was certain he could hear it and she began searching for something to say, something that would be profound and perfect and make him want her. "I…" she fumbled, "Good morning Professor," she finished quietly.

"Good morning Hermione." His voice was devoid of sneer or silkiness, it was quiet, a little raw and he had called her by her first name.

They returned to staring at each other, each focusing on the intricacies of each other face. He was looking a little paler than usual and she noticed that there were dark shadows under his black eyes, as though he hadn't slept well for a long time. She let her gaze travel down the prominent arc of his nose to his pale mouth which, when devoid of a sneer, looked soft although she would never say it was gentle. For the first time in her life she did not look at him and see any ugliness. His face was an amalgam of faults, eyes that were too dark, a nose that was too big and lips that were too thin. His face was gaunt, his complexion sallow and pale, his hair greasy and at that moment she could not have beheld a sight which would have enchanted her more.

"I'm going to London," he said awkwardly, breaking the promise he had made to himself earlier that he would not tell her of his movements, she had no need to know, she was only a student. "I won't be teaching today."

Hermione's heart sank. She and Lavender had only hauled themselves out of bed this early in order to ensure she looked perfect for him today. Instead he was seeing her in her Piglet bathrobe and tiger claw slippers. "Oh," was all she could say and then she thought about it, about why he was going. "Is it because of me?"

He curled his lip into a sneer and arched an eyebrow, "now Miss Granger," he said silkily, "do you really think you could make me run away?"

For a moment she thought he was serious and then she realized he had made a joke, and a rather self-deprecating one at that. Professor Snape was joking with her! She flushed and felt her feet move as she took a step closer to him. "When will you be back?"

"Sunday." He had to fight himself to stop from adding "come with me", knowing that would be the worst thing he could possibly say. He still had to make this right somehow, so far he was making a glorious mess of rectifying the situation. It was becoming worse now because he had just taken a step towards her and they were in the Common Room of her tower and any moment could bring over thirty students out to bear witness to his foolish behavior. Here was an excellent opportunity to repel her (because Merlin only knew why but his looks weren't doing it), and he could barely speak. His tongue, usually so adept at a stinging retort or blatant cruelty, felt twisted and more dead than alive. All he could think of saying was "come with me," and in such a circumstance he just shut up.

"So long?" She heard the anxious sound her voice had made. It was only Wednesday, to stay away until Sunday would mean he would be gone for almost a week. She desperately wanted to beg him to take her with him. She could go to London, she was ahead in all of her lessons. They could go together. She knew it was a ridiculous thought. He would never say yes to such a request, he might even scorn her for even suggesting it. He was her Professor and she was his student and she knew that was how he wanted it to be. But they were moving closer to each other, as though they were being winched together, not of their own accord.

She hesitated and placed a trembling hand against his stomach. Feeling for the first time the unyielding mass of the body beneath the clothes. Against his will his own hand came out then, stroked sensitive fingers over the soft fleece of her bathrobe and felt the hardness of a nipple beneath the fabric. He had to stop this, he had to - he just didn't want to.

"I have some things I have to take care of," he felt as though his mouth were full of marbles and his fingers strayed lower, over the belt tied around her waist and after a moment's hesitation, delved into the opening in the robe.

What in the name of all that was sacred and holy was he doing? He wasn't doing this. It wasn't rational and he was above all a rational being …. Most of the time. He was not reaching between her thighs, he just wasn't. But he was and he knew he was.

"Professor Dumbledore will take Potions until I get back," he said, hoping that the sound of something so mundane would somehow bring his hand out from the heat between her legs.

Her breath hitched as his fingers stroked gently over the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs, she parted them slightly to give him easier access and one long finger brushed over her clitoris and then pushed gently into her body.

"A...and y-you'll be back on S-Sund-d-day?" Oh Gods how was he doing that? He was still inside her, other clever fingers massaged her clitoris and she rocked against his hand.

"If…" his own breath caught and he wanted to pull her closer and bury his face in her wet hair, "If not before." She felt so hot and tight inside. If she felt like this around his finger he could only imagine what she would feel like around his cock. He'd tear her open, he'd be too big. He desperately wanted to find out. He knew he had to stop this, they could be caught, it was just a matter of someone walking out of their bedroom, but he couldn't stop because she was so hot and wet inside and he wanted her so much he felt he'd die if he didn't have her.

 _They've done it,_ he thought suddenly, _they've finally found a way to kill me._

"C-c-can I s-s-see you when you get b-b-back?" She was beginning to crest and she willed him to keep going, it wouldn't take long, she was almost there.

"I.." he swallowed, "I…" If she would just move her hand lower, "yes, I…" he gasped as he felt her body tighten around his fingers. She began to strain against his hand, "I think we need to…discuss…." He closed his eyes, she began to whimper quietly, biting her lip, trying not to make any noise, "some things," he finished.

Hermione came and her hips pistoned forward into his hand, she stumbled forward, fell against him and he held her against his body, forgetting for a moment exactly where he was as she rasped her orgasm out. She couldn't speak, she could barely think. She could hear his heart beating in his chest and she realized she was pressed against him. "Take me with you," she whispered, struggling to stay on her feet.

At that moment he was willing to take her anywhere she wanted to go, just so long as when they got there he could lay her down and fuck her until neither of them could walk. "I…"

He was saved from answering when Draco walked out of the corridor wrapped in a silk bath robe, yawning hugely and running straight into the back of the Potions Master. Snape quickly set Hermione on her feet and stuck his hand in his pocket, then pulled it out again, straightened her bathrobe and put it back. Hermione was still in a state of bliss and hadn't yet realized what was happening.

Draco Malfoy was no fool. While he would have had a hard time believing it was possible that Hermione Granger and Severus Snape could possibly be doing something even remotely sexual with each other, the heat and tension coming off them in waves was almost tangible. There was also the fact that he had seen Hermione pressed against Snape and the Professor's hand in her robe. "Sorry," he yawned again, "was I interrupting something?"

"No, of course not." Severus snapped very quickly back into Professor Snape, "I was simply telling Miss Granger that I would not be teaching today and that she should continue with her planetary tinctures for the remainder of the week. I dare say you should do the same."

"Ok, what ever you say Uncle Severus." Draco grinned.

Snape's flesh infused with a hint of a blush and he turned to Hermione, "While I am away, the Headmaster has requested that you help to ensure that at least one of Mr. Potter's tinctures actually works, he is rather anxious for Potter to pass this year."

Hermione was flabbergasted at just how fast he could go from the man who she wanted to throw on the floor and molest to her sarcastic Potions Master.

 _That's because he is your sarcastic Potions Master you fool._ "Yes Professor," she managed to say, but he had already turned on his heel and was heading out the door. Her legs started to wobble and she felt an arm stretch around her waist. She looked at Draco who was grinning at her.

"Why Miss Granger," he said smiling and helping her to her room, "I think he likes you."

"I…" she blushed as they staggered into her room and she sank onto the bed, "I…"

"And I think we have worked out just who the giver of love bites is."

She shook her head, "Please, don't…"

"I'm not going to say anything," he laughed gently, "I'll say good job, I don't know how you managed it."

Something clunked into place in her head. "Uncle Severus?"

"He's my Godfather, not technically an Uncle, I just call him that when I want to give him a little shit." Draco chuckled, "or let him know I'm onto him."

"You won't tell?"

"Of course not!" he frowned, "You might need to have a bath though, you smell like you just got shagged."

Hermione's mouth dropped open and Draco wandered out of her room, still chuckling and heading for a morning shower.

~

Ron Weasley was in an unreasonably bad mood. His evening had not gone as planned, he had fully expected to have a rose on the Contract and the ability to flaunt his success (although certainly not his lover) to his less successful friend. When he had left, Harry had been sitting in the Common Room alone and contemplating going to bed early, by the time Ron got back at around 2am there was one of the biggest rosebuds Ron had ever seen on Harry's rose bush. Ron had a rosebud of his own but it was rather small and it looked a little brown and dead.

To add insult to injury, when he had woken at 7am, Harry was asleep in his own bed looking satisfied and there was another enormous rosebud on the bush. To make matters worse, there was another bud on Hermione's rose bush as well. Harry it seemed got red roses, Hermione, pink and Ron? Well, from what he could see they would be yellow, when they weren't kind of brown and dead.

Harry was also keeping very tight lipped about the identity of the mystery woman and what exactly had taken place to earn the buds. He did however work out that Harry had received a blow job and that it was pretty fucking mind blowing and Ron felt a surge of jealousy so strong he almost spat.

So now he was stuck at breakfast with Harry who wasn't quite there and glaring down the table at Hermione who was sitting with Lavender on one side and Draco Fucking Malfoy on the other. Hermione didn't look all that comfortable and that probably had something to do with the fact that Viktor Krum was sitting at the High Table and had been introduced by Dumbledore as the new Sports Master.

Ron surveyed Krum coolly and sneered, "Well it looks like Hermione's set," he said to Harry, "Krum's back, I'd say it's just a matter of time before she gets her rose."

Harry looked at Krum and frowned as though he had only just realized he was there.

"Didn't Hermione dump Viktor Krum?" Harry asked, coming to himself momentarily. "He sent all of those really nasty letters, didn't one of them have a curse in it? Why would she do anything with him?"

"Well he has got to be better than Malfoy," Ron bit into his toast and eyed Draco who surreptitiously flicked him the bird. "I can't believe she let that prick touch her."

Harry flushed and felt a wave of protectiveness wash over his body. He looked down the table at Draco who flashed him a smile that made him want to melt. "I don't think she did anything with Malfoy," he said.

"Oh come on!" Ron nearly choked. "You saw 'em!"

"Yes, but maybe there was a good explanation for it."

"What? Like they were talking about Transfigurations and she kissed him on the cheek for no apparent reason?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Explanation my arse!" He threw what was left of his toast on his plate, "She should have her lips cut off for touching his with them. Gods, anything his mouth touches must be contaminated."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and wondered just what would happen to his cock if Ron found out exactly where Draco Malfoy's mouth had been. "Gods Ron, he's not that bad."

Ron gaped at Harry as though he had suddenly developed a mad hysteria. "Not that bad?" He looked around for back up, "NOT THAT BAD?" Now half the Great Hall was staring at him. "Are you kidding me? Might I remind you that his Father tried to kill you on how many occasions? Fifty wasn't it?"

"About four actually." Harry began to smile.

"And how many times has the little blond _'ferret'_ tried to hex you?"

"That would number in the thousands." Harry was out and out grinning now, at the other end of the table Draco was eating something which could have been yogurt and was comically sucking on the spoon and staring at Harry.

"And who would have become a Death Eater if the War had continued?"

"Well we don't know that."

"Yeah, he didn't even fight, he hid at home like a fucking coward. If he did fight we might all be lucky and you could've killed the fucking shit."

Harry started in his seat and he had to force down the rush of anguish that coursed through him. It didn't matter now, it never happened. Draco hadn't become a Death Eater and he didn't fight in the war and he was there, sitting at the other end of the table and he was alive and whole. That was all Harry cared about. Draco winked and Harry started to laugh.

"So now it's funny?"

"No Ron, it's just..." He sighed and rolled his eyes, he really didn't want to fight right now, not when he felt this good. "You're right, point taken."

Ron frowned, "Right, good." He picked up his toast again and began eating.

Harry sighed. So much for telling Ron about Draco because if everything worked out, he would need a vat of tranquilizing tonic for that little conversation. He looked back down the table but Draco was talking to Hermione, grinning a rather evil grin and looking edible. Hermione still looked uncomfortable, but she seemed to be enjoying the company.

The guilt he'd been ignoring with his morning euphoria finally surfaced. He was going to have to do something to make up for what he had done. It was going to have to be something pretty big. Really, really big. He had no idea what. If someone he trusted hit him (well, clobbered and knocked him into a fireplace actually) he would have a pretty hard time forgiving them.

Hermione was different from him though and he knew it. She forgave people, often people who didn't deserve to be forgiven. He just had to be honest with her. And therein lay the problem. He looked at Ron who had turned his back and was talking to Padma on his other side. How did he tell them something like this? It was one thing to want to be open and honest with them, it was another thing entirely to say 'Ron, Hermione, I'm gay and I am in love with Draco Malfoy and he gave me really great head last night' - or words to that effect.

He began to smile and dissolve back into his own euphoric world again. Yes, he would have to say that Draco Malfoy gave really really great head.

~

The fact that Krum was not only at the school, but teaching there, annoyed Hermione no end. She had worked hard on creating and maintaining the wards to keep her whereabouts hidden from him and now he had just turned up and here she was. She was kicking herself for not having told Dumbledore about the curse that the bastard had sent her in the post. Still, she reasoned, if Dumbledore had hired him then he must pose no threat to her. Dumbledore would hardly hire a maniac.

What about Professor Quirrel? Or Gilderoy Lockhart?

Everyone has their off days. She eyed Krum nervously.

Dumbledore believes in second chances, so why don't you?

It was a good point and she knew she should follow it. Still, she resolved not to make so much as eye contact with Krum unless he actually came over and started talking to her, and so far he had pointedly ignored her. She stared down the table at Harry who gave her a tentative smile, she looked away, she was still angry at him. She had managed to avoid getting a bruise where he hit her, but it still hurt despite the pain killing draught she had made. It was typical of her luck that she has a falling out with Harry right when Krum turns up.

She looked wistfully at Snape's empty place and wondered exactly where he was and if he would miss her. Draco had filled her in on why he was going to London but it did little to curb the want in her.

~

A trip to London in the middle of the school year was not part of Severus Snape's plans. Especially not now when he had so many things that he had to straighten out in his own life. He was still having difficulties believing the situation he was in. He had never experienced a woman actually wanting him, a woman letting him touch her, wanting him to touch her! After he left Hermione his intention was to go straight to London, but he returned to his room, jerked off, had another shower and wished to the Gods he was taking her with him.

It was probably a good thing he was going away. He needed to be away from her. The fact that this experience was so new and so fresh was surely the reason why he couldn't control himself. The attraction made no sense to him, yes he had been aware of her but not in such a way as to make him become unreasonable. Certainly not in such a way that would make him abandon all sense and molest her in the middle of a communal room just before it was filled with students. His behavior this morning was completely irrational. He had to forget her and there was no better place to do that than in the one place he truly despised.

He hated London, he hated the entire city with its tight narrow streets and the multitude of Muggles that swarmed into even the tightest of alleyways at all times of the day and night. Despite the complete irrationality of it, Snape hated Muggles. He had argued it in his head over and over again and had decided that it wasn't that he discriminated against them, he just found their existence futile. As if to prove his point he rounded a corner and was confronted by a huge WH Smith newsagent, large magazine posters glaring from its windows, one proclaiming it's "Stars without their makeup" issue and featuring a collection of spotty looking Muggles on the cover. He had no idea who Melanie Griffiths was or why she was so important that Muggles would pay good money to see her without her make up but evidently they did, he sneered in disgust and kept walking. If it wasn't for Draco he would never have come.

There were very few people in the world that Snape felt the compulsion to do something for, and fewer still whom he couldn't refuse. Draco Malfoy fitted into the 'couldn't refuse' category, along with Minerva, Dumbledore and Lucius. A nagging voice in the back of his head added Hermione to the list and he had to concede that she had probably made it, although he would never admit to it openly and he would never tell her that. Evil wench with her soft lips and her wild untamable curls that frizzed when they were damp.

He had been made Draco's Godfather years before when Lucius was more than just Voldemort's thug. Well, Lucius had always been Voldemort's thug, but he'd had been different once. Snape had good memories of him. As a child, the young Severus had hero worshiped his neighbor, six years older and impossibly good looking, Snape had felt it the tragedy of his life that he hadn't turned out the same. He had watched Lucius' habits with an almost religious fervor, even admiring his rather annoying habit of stopping everything in order to write down some ridiculous thought he had (or a quote he had heard or some damn thing from the side of a building) in the pocket book he carried everywhere with him. Of course, Lord Voldemort hadn't shared Snape's admiration and had subjected Lucius to a full 15 minutes of the Cruciatus curse for not listening during a meeting and thus put paid to that habit. It was Lucius who had taken him to meet the Dark Lord in the first place - so perhaps he didn't have to thank him for that turn of events.

The last time Severus had spoken to Lucius was after the battle was won. Voldemort had taken refuge in a crumbling tower and was killed there; Lucius had gone in and was taken down. Severus had carried him out of the wreckage of the tower, knowing that it would be inevitable that he would receive the kiss but hoping that perhaps his fate would be different. He didn't want to leave him there to die. Lucius, weak from the stun spells, had looked at him and realized that he was a traitor and had laughed. It was so typical of Lucius. The old Lucius. Laughing at his own stupidity. Then he had looked seriously at Snape and whispered, "look after Draco will you," before passing out. They were the last words Severus heard from him.

He quickly pushed his mind to the task at hand. He had informed Draco he would go to London to get Narcissa, and so a little after ten in the morning he found himself plunging into Soho, joining the flotsam and jetsam of Muggle humanity that inhabited London's dirty streets, pushing his way past market stalls and sex shops, in search of the gray façade of the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities.

Snape had never understood why it wasn't located in a Wizarding area. To have the world's foremost Wizarding Museum located in the heart of the Muggle red light district, wedged between a lingerie shop and an adult bookstore, was a travesty. Then again, when the museum had been built, this was open countryside.

He hadn't been to the Museum since he was a child. It had been one of those strange days when his Father was in a particularly cruel mood and his Mother had felt the rare need to shelter him from it. She had purchased tickets to the museum, the tickets were Portkeys and they carried them to the street outside. It had been raining that day and she had felt the need to stand them out in it, looking at the front door and sighing a few times before saying in a high pitched voice that meant she was attempting to be playful and understanding of him; "Come on Severus, you'll love this, this place is full of all sorts of interesting things."

Sullen child that he was, he looked up at her and tried to smile through rain soaked hair. He had hated every square inch of that Museum.

It was now some 34 years later and he could still feel the cold sting of rain on his face. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, as though they had been held so tightly they ached, and turned the corner onto Bouchier Street. The Museum suddenly appeared before him, two cold and miserable looking Aurors were posted at the door - ironic guards for the Death Eaters. He wished for a moment that he was dressed in a decent set of robes, rather than the Muggle trousers, jumper and long black coat, but it would have been foolish to traipse around London in full wizard regalia. He would rather drink his own urine than have some Muggle look at him as though he were mad.

He mounted the steps, nodded to the Aurors who eyed him suspiciously, and entered the Museum. The first sensation to hit him was the smell; that same, musty smell that he remembered from his childhood. It pervaded every space and must have been ingrained into the very stone of the walls. There were a number of Witches milling about the entrance, all dressed in Muggle clothes with various measures of success, and each holding the hand of a small child who would have done anything to be a million miles away from that place.

A couple of Witches looked at him, remembering him from school and visibly shuddered. He suppressed a smirk, he did like to be remembered. It was then his turn to shudder as her turned and saw a large sign advertising the Dark Arts Exhibition that was due to open in a week. He shuddered at the thought of the Ministry putting people on display as though it were the Dark Ages. Snape had no doubt it would be a huge success. He walked quickly to a desk with an ornate information sign and looked at the nervous looking House Elf who stood on a stool waiting to serve.

"I am here to see the Curator regarding the retrieval of Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy's remains," he hissed quietly. There was no need to let everyone here know what he was doing.

"Does Sir have any letters of recommendation?" the House Elf asked with more imperiousness than Snape thought a House Elf could possess. He was unused to addressing most people with civility, it was going to be a cold day in hell before he kowtowed to a House Elf!

"I have letters for the Curator to see, now get him for me before I have you presented with a hat."

The House Elf shook, bowed it's head in terror and disappeared. It returned less than a minute later, still shaking and still bowing and requested that Snape follow it into the Museum.

~

Continued...


	12. Flight of Angels Part 2

Chapter 7 part2

~  
Harry held out his hand and tried not to give over to irritation as Lavender Brown caressed it and stared closely at his palm. All he really wanted to do was eat his lunch, it was lunch time after all and he was fairly keen to find Ron and get away from Hermione's hurt stare, but Lavender was insistent, she had Divination straight after lunch and she hadn't completed her homework. Firenze was not as easily fooled as Trelawney. Apparently Ron had already done readings of all of her best friends and so she had assembled Harry, Draco and Hermione as her subjects.

Despite her total lack of regard for Divination as a subject, Harry noticed that Hermione was watching Lavender with some interest and that Draco was looking on intently, a dubious frown on his face. Harry felt a little like a Jobberknoll on it's deathbed, with an audience waiting to hear it die.

After close inspection Lavender declared him to have an Earth Hand. He couldn't see it himself, not knowing what an 'Earth Hand' would look like over any other hand, but Lavender was writing it down in her book and returning to stare at the lines of his palm.

"So why is it an Earth Hand?" he asked when it became evident that no one else was going to comment.

"Well," said Lavender, still staring intently, "there is a structural heaviness to it, a square palm, short fingers…."

He had short fingers? He looked at his hand, they didn't look that short.

"Although there is no paucity, which is unusual in an Earth Hand."

No what? He frowned at her and she caught the look.

"Usually there is a paucity of lines on an Earth Hand."

He had no idea what she was on about, he was still getting over the short finger's remark.

"The Earth Hand indicates a practical nature, people with these hands are usually honest, noted for their inclination towards effort and hard work." She looked a little closer, "you have a nice, powerfully masculine hand."

Draco snorted with laughter and Harry flushed.

"Don't you laugh, you're next," Lavender told Draco and returned to Harry's palm, "you have a strong streak of 'typical masculinity' in your psychological make up..."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You know, rescue damsels from burning buildings type stuff..."

Well he could hardly deny that, didn't Hermione once accuse him of having a saving people complex?

"Hmmm, but I see you have a darker side."

Where? How did she see anything like that in the lines on his hand?

"Beneath the outward solidity lurk certain forces which, given the right circumstances, can break through in a thoroughly destructive way."

Harry jerked his head up to look at her and cast a glance at Hermione who was nodding in agreement and glaring at him.

"You have a nicely developed Mount of Venus, which means that you have a warm and sympathetic nature and a strong desire to love and be loved. It is rather springy in texture, which means you are probably pretty energetic in bed, a bit submissive, eager to please."

"Don't you write that down!" Harry flushed and Draco was almost rolling on the floor with laughter, even Hermione smirked.

"I have to! It's all there in your hand. You have a strong appreciation for beauty, you'll probably only be attracted to really beautiful looking people."

Draco rolled his eyes and Harry felt himself grin and flush a little more.

"Now, your heart line is very deep and strong with no off shoots at all," her eyes widened, "It seems you are going to have one great love in your life," she frowned then, "and only one. That's pretty weird, usually a few lovers are evident, I can only see one for you. It lasts until you die."

He pulled his hand away. "That's enough," he muttered.

Lavender sat back. "What's the matter? It's a good reading."

"It's all crap," Harry said a little defensively, "you know Divination isn't exact."

Lavender rolled her eyes and wondered why she ended up with the three biggest skeptics in the school for her subject matter. She was the first to admit that Divination was an imprecise art at the best of times, but palm reading was probably one of the more accurate methods, it was just a matter of being able to decipher the unique lines on the person's hand. She considered herself rather good at it.

"Ok," she turned to Draco, "your turn."

Harry shifted over and Draco slid onto the bench beside him. Harry felt fingers brush his thigh briefly. It was the first contact he'd had since he left Draco that morning and he was going to cling to it like a ship wrecked survivor clings to a piece of driftwood.

Draco held out his hand and Lavender took it – and began to smile.

"Ooooh, I've never seen a Water Hand before." She grinned at Draco, "just love to be different don't you?"

"I try to oblige."

"Ok, very delicate hand, long fingers, long palm, lot's of lines." She smiled at Draco, "so lot's of secrets to be found. They call this the sensitive hand, it's very feminine…"

"Oh thanks very much," he drawled.

"I can't help it if you have girly hands," Lavender laughed. "Ok, you are subject to ever changing moods, your psychological state has it's physical analogue in flowing water – running sometimes shallow, sometimes deep. You tend to reflect your immediate environment."

"So I'm a shallow person who does what everyone around me does?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"No, not at all, you're ever changing. By reflecting your environment I mean it in a sense of 'you be nice to me and I'll be nice to you'… you reflect your surroundings, which also means you are adaptable, versatile, flexible."

"Fair enough."

"Ummm, slightly over developed Mount of Venus but it is quite fleshy, so you also have a warm and sympathetic nature and a desire for love and to be loved, but you hide a lot of that. The fact that it is over developed shows that you have a tendency to over indulgence. You enjoy being pleasured but you like to be in control.." she stroked the fleshy Mount, "I really pity the poor girl who ends up with you!"

Draco smirked, a little offended, "and why would that be? I think I'd make a pretty good catch."

"Well, you won't accept anything but the best and most coveted of people and you want to be worshipped."

"Sound about right."

Lavender burst into laughter, "you are hopeless." She went back to the palm; "although, interestingly enough, you don't value beauty very highly." She looked him square in the eye. "My goodness, Mr. Malfoy, there might be some hidden depths in there."

"Well, I figure I'll never find anyone as good looking as me so I'll just have to settle for second best." He sighed dramatically and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in mock anguish and had everyone at the table in immediate fits of laughter.

"Ok, ok, we have to get back to this." Lavender stroked his hand affectionately and Harry was suddenly certain that they'd had a thing once. He looked away and Lavender continued. "Heart line indicates that you have a number of lovers very young," she smiled, "a LARGE number of lovers very young."

Draco nodded, trying to see what she was seeing.

"Then you find the one that's your soul mate. It looks like it's unexpected because all activity stops after that, not even any minor offshoots, no other lovers are indicated after that."

"Really?" He sounded dubious.

"Really, looks like you actually manage to settle down."

He didn't know if that was such a good thing, until he really thought about it and remembered Harry's palm. Harry only got one lover, only one. He looked at Harry and allowed his gaze to travel over the face in profile, "can you see when I am going to meet this amazing person that will mend my wicked ways?"

"I can't give you an exact date or anything. I'd say it's soon. It's early on in your line which would indicate that you're fairly young, before your twenties."

Draco shrugged, "Ok, I think I can handle that." He grinned, "of course, Potter here thinks it's all crap, so I won't take it as gospel."

Harry felt fingers stroke his thigh again and he felt the first vestiges of arousal in his groin. He smiled a small smile and looked at his own palm. With Draco still stroking he looked up at Lavender, "Do you really think I have short fingers?"

~

The existence of windows in the Curators' office surprised Snape and he found his eyes wandering to the windows and scanning the somber gray clouds until lightning cracked a jagged course across the sky. Rain beat with sudden fury against the windows, then streamed down the glass, blurring the view outside and drawing Snape's attention back to the man seated at the desk in front of him.

The Curator Archibald Semeuse sat with his back to the windows studying Snape's letters of recommendation while thunder reverberated through the sky. The request for the release of Narcissa's body lay close to the Curator's hand and he was making a great show of checking everything thoroughly. Every so often the man's dark eyes would flick up and take in the tall lean form of Snape and then go back to the letters, otherwise he didn't move.

Snape felt his mouth start to twist into a sneer and he resisted the urge to say something. The Curator was horribly neat and Snape noticed with no small amount of distaste that when he sat in that way, unmoving and unnaturally still, he could have passed for a mannequin. He was also exceedingly well groomed, which put Snape's rather unkept appearance to shame. His hair looked as though it had been cut less than an hour before and his gray robes were impeccable, each fold pressed into a crease as tight and straight as blades. Snape had no doubt that the man's shoes would positively gleam.

Semeuse looked up from the letters and smiled a large fake smile that was his standard welcoming look. His teeth were exceedingly straight and white.

"Well then Mr…"

"Professor," Snape interjected with some irritation.

"Professor Snape." Semeuse straightened the page of its creases. "This all seems to be in order. I can release Mrs. Malfoy's body to you. There are also some personal effects that have been sent from Azkaban. If you do not wish to take them I will be only too pleased to assist you and dispose of them myself."

Snape forced a tight smile to his lips, "I believe I will take them with me," he said. The Curator unnerved him, managing to do what only one man had previously been able to. The Curator made his skin crawl.

Semeuse smiled a tight smile of his own. "As you wish," he said and began to deliberately fold the letter again, ensuring that each fold was perfectly symmetrical. "I will have the House Elves prepare the body for transportation; it should take less than an hour. In the meantime, please stay and look around the museum, I am sure you will find something to amuse you."

"Actually, it is the express wish of Mr. Draco Malfoy that I check on his Father. I am sure it will not inconvenience you to allow me a few moments."

The Curators hand balled into a fist under the table and his face hardened. Snape's smile became slightly more genuine, enjoying the older man's discomfort and wondering exactly what he had to hide. Semeuse was well aware that he could deny the request, but the dour man in front of him was no Piers Tampling. He was Godfather to the Angels son, he had a letter of recommendation from Albus Dumbledore, and he was also a Professor at Hogwarts, as well as Head of Slytherin House. He was not someone to be meddled with. Denying the request could arouse suspicions that the Curator did not want aroused. It would be best for the man to go and view the Angel and leave satisfied that he was alive and well. In fact, it might even be for the best.

"Of course, Professor Snape." Semeuse returned to his large cheerful smile, "I will show you to the Sais Room."

~

As much as Semeuse did not want to leave Snape alone in the Sais Room with his Angel, he had no choice. The necessity of having the woman's body prepared forced him to go; that, and he knew better than to hover when the point was to prove that all was well.

The other cabinets were all covered, only the case containing Lucius was uncovered, a soft light infusing the glass box, lighting him up for Snape to see. For a moment he felt the sting of guilt creep up the back of his neck. Dumbledore had once said that standing up to your enemies took great courage, but standing up to your friends took greater courage still. He made such an enterprise sound noble, but confronted with the product of his treachery, Snape couldn't believe it to be so.

"Hello Lucius."

Lucius stared back at him, his grey eyes clear. Snape was surprised to see that he looked a little tired. He didn't think that they could look that way. He watched as a thin stream of drool escaped the corner of Lucius' mouth and trailed down over his chin, pooling on the white cloth of the shift he was wearing. Snape turned his head away for a brief moment and fought the urge to scream. Lucius Malfoy was not supposed to look like that; he wasn't supposed to do that.

"Draco sent me to make sure you are alright." He felt foolish speaking, knowing that Lucius couldn't hear him, but he had to say something to pretend Lucius was still there. He remembered how it felt to carry him off the battlefield. Lucius had been lighter than he had expected, he had reached an arm around Snape's neck, and he had laughed.

"Take care of Draco will you?" Those last words echoed in his head.

Snape shook his head, "Who is there to take care of you?" he asked the body in the case so quietly he barely heard the words himself. The Curator? He felt a shiver race down his spine. "Draco is well," he continued, pushing on, trying to ignore the rising guilt. "He went back to Hogwarts to finish his final year, he's drinking a little too much but then we all do that." He laughed at himself and wished Lucius was not sitting propped up in a glass case. "He is a little concerned about what to do after school finishes, I think he is afraid of being in that house alone."

He looked into Lucius' eyes. They looked so very clear, not like what he had been told to expect at all.

"Draco is…"

All thought of conversation was suddenly extinguished as Snape was hit with a momentary flash of vision, feeling and sound. It was incoherent, not a memory, more like a fragment of thought. A great rush of wings, Angel wings beating frantically, beating to dust against the cavity of a skull, a mind being beaten to powder. He heard himself gasp and felt as though great wings were folding around him, as intimate and raw as love-making, drawing him closer to the case and the sound of a scream that was not his own filled his head.

Then it was over and he was released. He reached forward to the case to steady himself, his eyes wide, his breath heavy.

No, it was impossible. It was the product of looking too long into those clear eyes. It was guilt, his own imagination working overtime in light of the upheaval in his life. No, Snape told himself, I did not feel that. I did not feel Lucius' mind beating on the inside his skull like a dying insect (it was an Angel, they were Angel wings). I did not feel the breakdown of his brain, Legelimen or not, I did not feel that, I could not feel that. Lucius is gone; there is nothing there to feel.

"Lucius?"

Once again he could feel the beating of wings and then the feeling was gone, the sensation was only fleeting, he had imagined it.

"Lucius?"

"He can't hear you."

Snape almost leapt ten feet into the air in shock and spun around to face the Curator. He was grateful to have another animate being in the room, even if the Curator did make his skin crawl. "Curator." He smiled nervously and felt as though he had been caught doing something wrong. "You can't help speaking to him, he looks as though he will answer back." He actually laughed a nervous laugh, unable to shake the feeling, the image of those wings, the mind beating against the skull, the sound of the scream.

"I trust you find Mr. Malfoy well?"

Drawing a deep breath and calming his thoughts, Snape smiled. "Yes, very well, he looks well cared for, his son will be most relieved."

"Ah yes, his son." Semeuse steepled his fingers and forced himself to be nicer to the Professor, "I actually have an interesting proposition for his son. As his Godfather I thought you might be able to help him come to the right decision; perhaps even benefit from it yourself."

Snape regained his composure with incredible speed. "What kind of 'proposition'?" he asked, he was automatically suspicious. There was something inherent in the Curator's manner that made Severus guarded in his replies.

"Mr. Malfoy here, is the jewel in the crown of this collection." Semeuse looked at the Angel and his eyes began to gleam with some kind of inner light, "The Ministry have consented to allow the collection to remain here permanently after the exhibition has finished touring and I dare say that it will be a fine thing for the Wizarding world."

"How so?"

"Sir?"

"How can it be a fine thing? What is there to possibly be gained from displaying these people aside from some mild titillation for those in our society who want to be satisfied that they have suffered. After every one has seen it, what possible good can come of it?"

"It is an important collection, Professor." Semeuse knew it was pointless trying to convince this man. He was not Cornelius Fudge, he had no political agenda, nothing to gain from keeping the Death Eaters at the museum. He continued anyway, hoping that some of the importance of his position might prevail upon the sour looking Professor. "Future generations need to see what can become of the evil doers in our society, they need to see what the Dementor's kiss will do."

Snape shook his head dismissively, "So what is your proposition?" he growled.

"I would like to make an offer to Mr. Malfoy's son for his Father."

Snape's eyes widened as he looked back at Lucius, "are you suggesting that you wish to purchase Lucius?" he asked, incredulous lest it be true.

"Yes, of course you would be adequately compensated for your efforts."

Snape's hand balled over the handle of his wand, trying to find some kind of Dumbledore logic in his mind to stop him from hexing the Curator into oblivion.

"Mr Malfoy is an unseeing, unfeeling being." The Curator continued, "he would be no end of trouble for a boy to take care of and a constant reminder of the family's downfall. He can be of little use to his son, and as you can see he is well taken care of here."

"Is Mrs. Malfoy's body ready?" Snape asked his throat dry, "I believe it is time for me to depart."

"Will you take it up with the boy?"

"Yes," he said tightly, "and I believe that he will find the idea as ludicrous as I do. Now if you don't mind, I would like to get out of here as soon as possible."

~

Ron was avoiding him, Harry was certain of it. He knew why. Christmas. Ron had received a letter from home requesting that he return for Christmas – alone. He hadn't told Harry yet and Harry suspected that he couldn't work out quite how to do it. It would perhaps be best for Harry to bring it up first, suggest that Ron go home this year and spend some quality time with his family. In all honesty, Harry didn't want to go to the Weasley's this year. He knew that despite their proffered affections, Molly Weasley could never quite accept that Harry had been unable to do anything to save her sons, especially since he had been there when one of them had been blown to pieces. She could also never accept the fact that Harry could never love her daughter in the way she wanted to be loved. Harry's own feelings of guilt were still fairly strong in this regard and so he preferred the idea of spending his Christmas in his usual fashion at Hogwarts. Of course, it had been seven years since he had spent a Christmas without Ron.

So this evening, as at lunch time, Ron had made himself scarce, preferring to head into Hogsmeade with Anthony and Seamus than stay at Hogwarts and study. Harry had to admit that life at Hogwarts had been pretty dull since Voldemort died. With no adventures to be had, Hogsmeade was looking pretty exciting to everyone. Things had changed in that last few days however, and at that moment, Harry couldn't think of anywhere else he would rather be than at Hogwarts.

Draco was studying with Hermione. They had both taken Arithmancy and were arguing over something called 'Aiq Bekar'. Harry sat by the fire pretending to read and listening to their conversation, caught between his desire for Draco and his need to try and approach Hermione to make amends. At that moment the need to make amends was winning. In the certainty that he was going to be seeing Draco rather more intimately in a few short hours, he began to worry about exactly how he could approach this. Hermione had repelled every attempt he had made during the day to speak to her. He had hoped that after the palm reading (she was an air hand, the intellectual hand, smart, resourceful, forgiving, forgiving, forgiving) she would give him a moment to try and speak, but she had shoved past him and stormed off to her Arithmancy class. He didn't blame her of course, but he knew he had to do something and soon.

"No, no, no!" Hermione was shaking her head, "each Hebrew letter represents a number and vice versa. Words that add up to the same number have a connection. For example, the Hebrew word for 'corpse' has the same numerical value as the word for 'to extinguish'."

"I know that," Draco said impatiently, "who do you think I am? Longbottom? What I am saying is that these connections are not always so easily made. Sometimes you can only fathom them through deep contemplation that can take years and I have to say, it seems completely futile in light of the fact that you can make the damn talisman and have it work without all of this carry on."

"Well there are clerics who spend their entire lives devoted to pondering these connections. I always thought that the principal aims of any Witch or Wizard was to understand the relationships among all things!"

"Sure, if you want to waste your life away," Draco smirked, "the fact is, we can do magic and Muggles can't. Why spend an entire lifetime trying to fathom the connections between words in the pursuit of useless knowledge?"

"The pursuit of knowledge is never a waste," she replied matter of factly.

""Well now you just sound like my Father."

Hermione scoffed in disgust before she was even aware of what she was saying, "I highly doubt that I have anything in common with your Father."

"Why?" Draco asked, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest, "because he was a big mean nasty Death Eater?"

"Well, I, I guess, well, Yes, I suppose that's what I mean…." Hermione began to chew her lip, something that Snape had said during detention came back to her, something about installing a filter between her brain and her mouth.

"He had other interests you know," Draco said sarcastically, "I mean, killing Muggles and trying to bring our world to its knees took up a lot of his time but he did other things on his weekends."

"Draco, I…" She flushed and Draco's face hardened.

"No, it's fine, don't apologize, of course you have nothing in common with him. The fact that he has the largest collection of Kabbalah influenced Arithmancy books in England would mean nothing to you. He also has sets of ancient Melancholia Talismans and their workings, but that wouldn't interest you either, having no interest in anything like that."

"I'm sorry, I…"

Draco picked up his books and papers and pushed himself away from the table, "maybe you should consider that if you think you might actually like me, if you think that I am amiable enough to be your friend, then perhaps my Father isn't the demon you suppose him to be. I am, after all, purported by everyone who knows us to be just like him."

"But you're not like him," she blurted out, "you're different, you chose not to fight, you chose a different path."

"It's all a matter of circumstance." he sounded hard now, "I didn't fight because he hid me away, he didn't want to risk the family line ending with both our deaths. That is the only reason. There was no noble decision on my part, if I'd had my way I would have stood beside him and against you. Consider that in light of any new found respect you may have for me and talk to me when you have worked it through."

Draco turned and walked away, looking at Harry briefly before disappearing into the corridor that lead to his room.

Harry looked at Hermione and for a moment she returned his stare. She looked a little stunned and if she felt anything like Harry did at that moment, she felt stunned as well. Harry knew that Draco was protective and predatory when it came to his family, a slur against his family was a slur against him, but Harry had never considered it in quite that way before. He had always assumed that Draco hadn't fought because of a cowardice on his part, or perhaps that he actually believed his Father to be wrong. He had never considered that it was Lucius Malfoy who had stopped his son from joining the battle. Both Harry and Hermione were fast learning that Draco Malfoy's personality was as complex and as faceted as a precious stone. His wit was sharp and waspish. He was intelligent, he could laugh at himself and when it came down to it, he could be thoroughly enjoyable company. He could also be one of the nastiest people they had ever known. The idea that Lucius Malfoy could be downright nasty came as no surprise, that he could possess any of the other qualities seemed an affront to everyone who had died trying to bring him down.

"He's just upset," Harry said at last, "I'm sure he'll calm down soon."

Hermione seemed to come to her senses then and remembered she wasn't talking to Harry. "Don't speak to me," she muttered and picked up her own books.

Harry took a deep breath, now seemed like as good a time as any to try and do this. "Hermione, we need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"I am so sorry for everything I said to you, I was wrong. I am sorry that I hit you, it was unforgivable and I know that, but could we at least talk about it?"

She glared at him, "Why should I talk to you? Why should I listen to you when you refused to listen to a word I said last night?

"I..." he looked around and spotted Neville with Susan Bones, both watching them with some interest, "can we talk about this in private?"

"No."

"Please, 'Mione, please can we just go and talk?"

She stood, clutching her books to her chest and went to her door. She stopped with her hand on the door knob and turned back to him. After a moments hesitation she said in a voice that was as hard as he had ever heard her be; "come on then."

~  
Severus Snape stared out the window into the darkness of the winter evening and knew that in the distance loomed the great stone walls of Malfoy Manor. The Fenn had been built in its shadow some years after the initial construction of the Manor by some Snape ancestor who wanted to be close to greatness. While the Manor had seen several refurbishments and renovations, growing ever larger and more grand, the Fenn had weathered the storm of some 300 winters untouched.

Now the Fenn was his and despite being born and raised inside its' walls, despite coming back to it every summer, he didn't feel as though he owned it. This was still his Father's house, not someone's home. When he came here he felt as though he could still hear the man screaming at him, as though the sound of his voice had been trapped in the stone walls and it had caused hate to grow like mould.

The only changes he had made to The Fenn since inheriting it some 21 years ago was to refurbish the bedrooms. He turned his old room into a guest room and moved into the old guest room that was pleasantly furnished and utterly impersonal. In this room he could almost feel like the landowner he was, not dull and grey as his own room had been. In this room he did not have the memories of zapping flies when he was angry, or the frustrating sexual experiences associated with girls who had laughed at him before running away. In this room he felt like a welcome guest as opposed to the frustrated Master.

He hadn't planned on coming home. His aim had been to deliver Narcissa to the Manor. He knew where the family vault was, and he could have her interred there. He would then go back to London where he planned to spend a few days at the Leaky Cauldron, away from Hogwarts and Hermione, where he could settle down and think about his situation and how he could rectify it without making things worse. He hadn't counted on the Ministry not letting him within ten feet of the Malfoy estate. They had offered to take the body, but he didn't relish the idea of a dozen or so Aurors picking over Narcissa's remains and the few meager possessions he had in the box the Curator had given him.

That box was now sitting on the drawing room table and Narcissa was downstairs in his own Family Crypt. He had unceremoniously moved his father's stone coffin out of the way to make room for her. Now he was stuck at his own house with little to do but think and prowl around the dark stone corridors.

The Fenn was not a particularly wealthy property. It produced nothing and had a fairly small acreage. While the Snape family had at one time been quite wealthy, his father had spitefully gambled away most of their wealth before he died. The Fenn was all that was left, consisting of the house itself, a fairly large garden that was beautiful in the summer (although he rarely walked in it) and a small stretch of river that also passed through the property. Severus had a memory of there being a boat on the river when he was a child; but where it went he could never recall. The property also came incumbent with two House Elves named Melville and Vesna. Apparently there was another, a Melville Junior, somewhere in the house, but he had never seen it nor, had he asked after it. Unlike Lucius, Severus made a point of not treating the House Elves badly, nor did he treat them well. If he didn't need anything of them he simply ignored them and they kept the house and grounds very well, always ensuring it was ready lest he drop in unexpectedly, which he never did. Until today.

The house was quite large by Muggle standards, despite being dwarfed by the Manor on the hill. It was a gray stone building, built in a similar style to the original Manor. It started out as a basic village residence, and then it had been fortified to make it look far more important than it actually was. The result was that it had far too many turrets and towers that made it look top heavy, as though it would topple over from all the weight. As a child he found it fanciful, as an adult he hated it. It looked like a fairy tale castle, too small to be a real castle and all too obviously held up by magic.

To Minerva McGonagall's delight, The Fenn had a ballroom and she had spent the past two and a half months trying to convince him to have a New Years party there. He had declined as soon as it was mentioned in the teacher's lounge one Friday night after too many Zombie Death Punches, but in typical Minerva fashion she had begun a campaign of gentle nagging to wear him down and he had to admit he was pretty close to relenting, just to make her stop. Of course that would mean that he would have to open the house up to all of Minerva's guests and he really didn't know if he was ready for that. She had already told him she was going to invite the entire staff of Hogwarts and the whole of the Order of the Phoenix, which put the guest list at almost two hundred. He simply wasn't that sociable and he hated the idea of having people judge him based on his home. It usually went one of two ways, the first was that people found the house 'adorable' and thus he must be in some way 'adorable', or that they found the house 'adorable' and how dare a sour faced prick like him own it.

He would like to show Hermione the house and say 'this is mine' and impress her on some level. Not that he needed to, she probably thought he lived at Hogwarts, part of the furniture, like a House Elf himself.

He turned away from the window and wondered if she would ever like to be mistress of a place like this one.

"Oh good grief," he muttered, "now you're marrying her? What's next, children and a three headed dog?"

He turned to look at the box sitting on the table. It was an ordinary box, like something that old test papers would be filed away in and left to gather dust. Except that there were no old test papers inside that box, inside that box were things belonging to Narcissa. He had always liked her. If he was honest with himself he would have to admit to having a crush on her at one time. He had attended their wedding and every photograph revealed him with a scowl on his face that betrayed his thoughts readily. While it was true that he always had a scowl on his face, this one held a look of possessive jealousy. It didn't help that Narcissa was one of the few women that he actually got along with. The feelings had passed with time and a friendship of sort ensued. Now she was dead and he was staring at a box containing the few things she had with her when she was sent to prison.

He would have to open the box. Technically everything inside it belonged now to Draco, but Severus had little regard for the Ministry and he would put nothing past them. He also knew that they viewed Draco Malfoy with some suspicion, he had no doubt that they would stoop so low as to put something in the box that would hurt him. If not physically then emotionally, as if going through his dead mothers' things would not be hurtful enough.

Walking to the table, Severus ran his fingers over the lid. He hesitated for a moment, and then he removed the lid.

"Alright," Hermione said sitting on her bed and looking at Harry with her jaw set hard, "talk."

"I…" Harry sat opposite her, disrupting Lavenders' coverlet, now that he was here, now that she had given him the chance to speak, he wasn't sure what he could say. He was going to have to be honest with her, she wouldn't accept anything less. His greatest fear was that she wouldn't accept the truth. "I'm so sorry."

"You've said that a few times."

"I know, I was just sort of planning on saying it until you believe me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted with impatience, "Actually Harry, I do believe you, but believing you is not the point. I know you are sorry, you are not the kind of person who says sorry when you're not. What I want to know is why you think you can hit me and expect me to forgive you just because you tell me you say you're sorry. What happens the next time you get angry? Or the time after that?"

"It won't happen again," Harry said quietly.

"It shouldn't have happened the first time!" Hermione cried. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to have this conversation, she wanted this over with, or a time turner to take them back and have it not happen.

"I know." He looked at his hands, his fingers and felt nothing but disgust.

"So tell me why you did it. Was the idea that I could possibly like someone like Draco Malfoy so bloody awful that I deserved to have some sense knocked into me?"

"No, no of course not," Harry felt his eyes start to glaze and wondered what exactly was wrong with him at the moment, he kept wanting to cry – like a bloody girl.

"Or is it that you actually believed I would lie to you about it? When I have no reason to lie to you and you know I'm a terrible liar? Did I deserve to get hit for that?"

"No."

Hermione looked at him, desperately wanting him to actually say something in his own defense. He was just sitting there, looking at his knees and fidgeting with his hands.

"I…" his voice seemed small, thin somehow, his breath caught, "I thought you were with Draco," he said slowly, hoping that she would cotton on, "I thought you'd kissed him."

"And?" she cried again, "even if I was with him, even if I did kiss him, you had no right to hit me!" Her face was flushed now, she felt warm, it felt good to be upset, it felt good to be telling him what a bastard he had been, proving her strength. "You cannot choose who I am with or who I like, you have no rights at all when it comes to that part of my life. How dare you presume to dictate to me who I can be with!"

"It's not like that…"

"How would you feel if I hit you because I thought you were with someone I didn't like?" She threw a book at him and it cracked across the boney joint of his shoulder, hurting him, she could tell by the sound he made, "How does that feel?"

Harry stared at his hands, refusing to lift his head, refusing to acknowledge the flare of pain in his shoulder, thoroughly believing he deserved it. A large tear dropped onto his robes and he cursed it. This was not fair, he was not supposed to be crying like a fucking child, he was supposed to be making her understand.

Hermione saw the tear and her eyes widened. He was crying, he was actually crying. She had seen him standing in the middle of a field covered in the blood of his friends and he hadn't shed a tear. She felt a surge of power and a hard part of her whispered fiercely, 'let him cry, let him feel like that.'

"I…" he drew breath in a great shuddering gasp, "I'm sorry…I.."

"I DON'T CARE THAT YOU'RE SORRY!" She stopped, hardly believing that she had just yelled at him. He wasn't answering her because he had no excuse and he knew it. That could be the only reason. She just wanted him to admit it. "I don't care that you are sorry, I just want to know why you did it."

"Because… I thought you were with him," he closed his eyes, his head hurt and he drew another shuddered breath, "I thought you were laughing at me."

"Why would we be laughing at you? Why would we even care about you?"

"I…"

"What? You what?" She was being cruel now and she knew it, he seemed to shrink in front of her, curl into himself somehow. He still hadn't looked at her and when a drop of blood splattered over his fingers he didn't seem to notice it.

Hermione did and she finally felt her heart melt in the quick rush of panic. He was bleeding. Where was he bleeding from? She rushed forward and lifted his face and quickly found a handkerchief in her pocket and covered Harry's nose. "It's ok," she said softly and pinched the bridge of his nose, "sit still." She pulled out her wand and quickly cast a healing charm to stem the flow of blood. Her aunt had always had nose bleeds when she became stressed; she had never thought Harry the type.

"Are you alright?" she asked, gently stroking her fingers through his hair, calming him down. Harry nodded, still holding the handkerchief to his nose. His eyes looked so incredibly green.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again and closed his eyes, wishing he could say something else but terrified of saying it.

Hermione pulled him to her and hugged him, "just tell me the truth Harry," she whispered, she felt tired, she didn't want to fight with him, "just tell me what it is, what is doing this to you?"

"Draco" he whispered.

"What about Draco?" her voice was gentle now and she tangled her fingers in his messy hair.

Harry wiped his nose, silent for a time. If she was going to hate him, she may as well hate him for the truth of it, not because he was incapable of explaining himself. He told her everything, with it all coming out in rush, from the moment he had noticed Draco's stomach to the moment he kissed him, to thinking she was there and that they were laughing about him. After telling her about making love to Draco, about the intricacies of their night together, he looked back down at his hands and waited for her to speak.

Hermione sat back and didn't know what to think or say. She had wondered, in the past, why Harry had rejected most offers from girls who formed some kind of interest in him. There had been many of them and he'd never shown an interest. She had believed it was because of the war, because of what he had to do, because he might not survive it. She had never thought this was a real possibility. When Draco had told her that Harry had 'peaked his interest', she was sure it had been Draco having a pipe dream, not that Harry had kissed him. She had thought about it, considered it even, but decided it was impossible.

They had been together, made love to each other. Some hidden voyeur inside her wished to the Gods she had seen it, two ridiculously beautiful boys entwined around each other. He had held on to the knowledge of this attraction, this desire, for two years, hiding it from everyone, from Ron and herself.

Oh merciful Merlin, Ron!

Hermione looked at Harry who had lifted his gaze to her. He looked expectant, worried, as though he expected her to hate him. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she managed to get out, "What about Ron?"

"He… Ron doesn't know."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know," he swallowed, "I guess I'll have to."

She began to stroke his hair again, cradling the side of his face with her hand, "I don't think you should," she said, "not yet. I mean, do you know how Draco feels about all this?"

"No, I guess he thinks it's just a fuck."

Hermione frowned, "It's a pretty big step to take for just a fuck Harry. I mean, I've only ever heard of him being with girls before. Maybe you should talk to him about it."

"Umm, I think it might be a bit early for the 'Where is this relationship going?' talk."

Hermione hugged his again and held on to him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

"Don't you ever hurt me again," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I won't, I promise I won't."

She drew away from him, pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled at him. "I love you, I will always love you. I don't care who you are with or who you love, I will always be your friend and I will never lie to you, I promise you that."

Harry felt as though his heart had expanded in his chest and relief flooded his gut. He rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes, thanking the heavens that they hadn't taken her from him.

~  
At first Severus was convinced his eyes had deceived him and that all he could see in the box was blackness, and then he reached in and discovered that at the top of the box was a mass of black fabric. He pulled it out carefully, aware from just touching it that it was fragile, a little worn and threadbare. It was a robe, tattered and ruined, but most definitely a robe. He held it up, his fingers taking in the texture of the weave and the tiny stitches that held what was left of the seams in place. It seemed incredibly old and yet he knew it wasn't. The fabric was fine, no doubt the finest money could buy. The collar was torn, as though someone had grabbed the wearer by it, but two serpents were still sewn there. Made from fine silk cord, Severus knew that their heads would entwine to form the clasp at the throat. He also knew that the Curator had given him the wrong box. This robe did not belong to Narcissa, it belonged to Lucius.

In a moment of absolute clarity, Severus knew that the Curator would be livid when he realized his mistake.

The robe hid an assortment of objects beneath. All of them so completely Lucius that Severus felt a lump form in his throat. A pair of boots, good ones made of dragon hide, socks, a belt, black leather gloves, a black ribbon that had once tied his hair. For some reason there were no other clothes although Severus knew Lucius well enough to know he would have worn a shirt and doublet and no doubt a decent set of breeches as well on the day he was sent to be kissed. His wand lay in the box, broken in two, the Dragon Heart Strings at it's core had been stretched and snapped along with the hard wood coating.

There was jewellery in the box. A platinum wedding band and a locket on a long chain. A pocket watch. Severus closed his eyes and imagined someone removing these things from Lucius' body as though he was dead. In his minds eye he knew it was Moody and he knew Moody would have laughed as he did it, reveling in the fact that he was stripping back the Death Eater to the unseeing, unfeeling being that now sat in a glass case in a museum.

Severus opened the locket. It contained a lock of pale blonde hair, a tiny curl, baby fine and tied with a fine piece of blue ribbon. On the other side of the locket were engraved the words "Draconis lux lucis". He closed the locket and gently placed it with the ring and pocket watch.

I brought him to this, Severus thought, I destroyed him utterly. He could have hidden him away, he didn't need to take him to the Aurors that day, he could have hidden him, pretended he was dead.

Guilt mingled with pain and Severus nursed the hurt gripping his heart. He would survive this. He always did. He had betrayed his friends and his Master in order to be where he was now, alive and whole and able to take stock of his friend's life from the contents of a box. His treachery had kept him alive and free, that was all that mattered in the end.

Except it didn't make this any easier to bear.

The final two items in the box were an empty potion bottle, upon sniffing it Severus was unable to discern what it had once contained, and finally, a pocket book. It was this book that Severus pulled from the box with the greatest wonder. That damn book had gone everywhere with Lucius for as long as he could remember him. It was thick and old and full of pictures and objects that had been stuck in, page over page. The leather had once been a tan color, but was now dark from years of being handled, the oils of Lucius' fingers dying it a deep burgundy. The ornate M of the Malfoy crest was embossed heavily on the cover, it was tied together with black ribbon that had seen better days.

With hands that shook a little, Severus untied the ribbon and let the book fall open.

" SLUMBER did my spirit seal;  
I had no human fears:  
She seem'd a thing that could not feel  
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;  
She neither hears nor sees;  
Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course,  
With rocks, and stones, and trees."

He had never taken Lucius for a Wordsworth fan. It was possible that Lucius had no idea who Wordsworth was or even that he was a Muggle, he had just liked the sound of the poem.

He turned the pages, revealing more poems and ridiculous thoughts and snippets of useless information. But impressively, there were photographs, hundreds of them. Photographs of Narcissa, other women that Severus did not know but who could well have been various lovers – Lucius made no effort to hide the fact that he had them, Narcissa had them too – the occasional man who had a certain slenderness to him and once again, could have been a lover. There were even pictures of Severus himself, looking younger and just as dour as he did now.

In the end it was a photograph of Draco that made Severus Snape cry. A picture of a child of about five clutching what could have been a teddy bear with eyes the size of tennis balls. Severus knew exactly what it was. Off camera an arm came to try and take the thing away and the boy simply clutched it tighter, stamping his foot and his face threatening tears if any such thing happened.

The Malfoy's had a House Elf named Non whom Lucius had one day cursed with hirstutism whilst in a rage. The poor creature had grown so much hair that it was entirely covered and Draco had taken it to be some kind of toy and had latched onto it. No amount of cajoling would convince the child to relinquish the unfortunate Elf. In the end Lucius had left it that way until Draco eventually grew bored with it, some five years later. Until that time the Elf went everywhere Draco went, the breakfast table, the bath room, bed, holidays, everywhere.

Severus started to laugh and the laugh became a choked sob. He turned the page quickly, only to be confronted with another picture of Draco, this time dressed head to toe in Montrose Magpie Quidditch gear, he would have been less than two. Severus wondered for a moment if a more spoiled child than Draco Malfoy had ever been born.

He made to close the book, deciding it was dangerous to keep going. To see so much of the past dredged up was not going to do his mental heath any good. The book wouldn't close, instead it started flicking through the pages of it's own accord and Severus stared wide eyed, wondering exactly what it was he was supposed to see.

The book was charmed, it never ran out of pages, whenever a fresh page was needed it would always be there to use. By the same token it was charmed to show the reader exactly what Lucius Malfoy wanted them to see. The pages slowed as they reached the end of the book and eventually it stopped and the pages flattened themselves out. Severus picked the book up and read the word: METATRON

When Harry could bring himself to break the peaceful silence and speak again he was playful. Not taking his head from Hermione's shoulder he said; "So, you have a couple of rosebuds yourself, I told you my secret, you tell me yours. Who is the lucky guy?"

Hermione could hardly deny him. He had given her his overwhelming confidence and she could hardly throw that back at him. But despite the fact that Lavender and Draco had been quite impressed, she doubted that Harry would see it so. She really didn't know how he would take the news.

"I already told you," she said, "right before you clobbered me."

"No you didn't," he laughed, "you said Snape."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Harry tensed and sat bolt upright. He turned to stare at her. "Yeah, it's pretty hard to believe."

She smiled and peered mischievously through her fringe. "Maybe you're just going to have to believe it."

"Snape?" Harry laughed, she had to be joking, "long haired, greasy, gross Professor Severus Snape?"

"He's not that gross."

Harry was still laughing in total disbelief, "No. No way. Not possible."

"Why not?" She wanted to sound defiant but she found herself smiling, "he's a man, I'm a woman."

"You're 18, he's what, 50?"

"38"

"Whatever!" Harry stopped laughing, "that man is a nightmare Hermione. You are one of the best people I know. You are smart and sweet and brave and pretty and he is… he is… Oh Gods 'Mione, he's just awful. He is nasty, sneaky, mean, sarcastic, just plain evil, not to mention ugly and with one of the foulest tempers I have ever known a man to have. Please tell me this is a sick joke to cover the fact that you're dating Colin Creevy and I'll be really happy."

Hermione laughed, "Harry, yes, he is all of those things and probably more, I know that, but I assure you, I am not seeing Colin Creevy and Professor Snape is who I was with."

Harry just stared at her, unable to fathom this piece of news. "But… but _why_?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know. The first time, it just sort of happened, we were drinking, talking and the next thing I knew we were kissing and I really liked it." She blushed, but not through embarrassment or shame.

"Ok, Ok, I can accept that you were drunk and when you're drunk your judgment is impaired and you suddenly thought he looked like the bass player in the Weird Sisters, but what about the second time? What's the excuse there?"

"There is no excuse. I really like him. I think he's sexy."

"I think you're insane!"

She began to laugh again at Harry's astonished and slightly disgusted face, "Oh Gods Harry," she couldn't stop laughing now, it was coming from deep in her belly, "Oh Gods, we are a couple of idiots. Looks like we both like bad boys."

"Yours is badder than mine!" Harry declared but he began to laugh with her.

"Oh no he's not. At least mine wasn't hoping Voldemort would win!"

"Good point," he grinned at her, "So what are we gonna do? Poor Ron's gonna have a fit."

"Ahh, Ron's still in my bad books, so he can either accept it or piss right off."

Harry let the laughter settle in his gut and lay back on Lavender's bed, "somehow I think he's going to choose the piss right off option." He said it with humor but they both knew he meant it.

"Yeah, so do I." She lay down next to him, "It's going to be pretty awful if that happens."

"I know, that's why I plan to prolong it for as long as possible."

"You never know," she said, her head resting on his shoulder, "Ron is full of surprises. Maybe he will surprise us with this too."

Harry smiled grimly, "we can only hope."

~

Severus' eyes flew across the page that the book had revealed to him, trying to understand exactly what Lucius had written down and what it's meaning could possibly be.

"The supreme order of Angels that gaze upon the sphere of Kether, the greater countenance of God, is known as CHIOTH HA QADESH. Its Angels are also known as the Holy Living Creatures and equate to the Seraphim of Dionysius. Their Archangel is METATRON, referred to as "he who bringeth others before the face of God." Metatron is the youngest of all Angels and tradition has it that he was once the biblical patriarch Enoch. The Talmud says that Metatron is the link between God and Humanity. He may therefore be invoked, despite the fact that Kether itself is beyond the Wizards reach.

I have come to the conclusion that it is one of three potions, Reservoare Magnanimitas, Anima Reservo or Reservo Animula. I can only ask for one, I think it is the last one, my soul is only small. The ritual should be performed during the hour after Sunrise on a Friday:

Checklist:  
Green robe  
Copper necklace with jade, malachite or emerald  
Sandalwood & cinnamon for anointing  
Green flame  
Green silk triangle  
49 green stones  
Sandalwood and Cinnamon for burning"

Lucius was obviously planning on invoking someone, but did he think he could possibly draw down the Metatron, and if he could, just what did he think the Angel could do for him? .

Severus turned the page and froze. It was a potion. He had heard of such potions existing but had given up hope of ever seeing one. Angelic Magic was difficult to fathom, being a strange hybrid of various mythologies including Muggle religious doctrines, and even the most powerful of Wizards could not decipher much of it. It was said that to understand the process one had to receive the instructions direct from a heavenly being. And, Severus thought wildly, what Angel in their right mind would give instructions to Lucius Malfoy, a man whose list of good deeds was remarkably short?

"Reservo Animula – To save a little soul

"Take a piece of gold, heat until red hot and drop into bowl containing ten times the weight of filtered rain water (must be collected in a non metal container at least five feet before it hits the ground.) leave for 45 minutes and remove gold, strain water into cauldron containing 2 pints Venus Planetary Fluid condenser. Add four drops each of essence of "Abdiel", "Chamuel", "Jophiel", Michael" and Zachiel". Stir 78 times in a counter clockwise position. Add 25 grams ground Angel feathers (see Metatron). Boil for 25 minutes and decant for three days.

Imbibe within one hour before kiss."

The ingredients were virtually impossible to find, Angel essence had to be gathered after the celestial wars and while there was a set at Hogwarts, it wasn't his; the set had come with the school. To get the Angel Feathers Lucius would have had to successfully invoked the Metatron and convinced an Angel to hand over his feathers, then he would have had to put the potion together from what looked like the most makeshift recipe he had ever seen. It would never have worked.

The sudden rush of beating wings at the museum came back to him, the strange clear light in Lucius' eyes.

Severus looked back down at the potion. "Lucius, what have you done?"

NOTES:

 _In answer to a couple of questions/reviews._

 _Yes, I am still posting at Whispers. I have been running Whispers for the past year so it makes sense that I post there. I am attempting to get the whole thing uploaded here as well and hopefully I will get it all done in time for the new update._

 _As to Hermione's age. I've been writing this for almost two years and when I started the common thought was that Hermione was actually younger than Harry (starting school when she was 10 turning 11 not 11 turning 12). Now JK Rowling as come out recently and said that she is older than Harry and to be honest I don't want to go searching through hundreds of pages of work in an attempt to find all references to her age. I have attempted to stick with canon as much as possible (I went through after OoTP came out and removed all references to Sirius still being alive and I have changed Snape's birthday etc) but I am going to let this one slide for the time being._


	13. I'm Just a Jealous Guy

**Chapter 8**

 **I'm Just A Jealous Guy**

~

October 31st 1981

Two Death Eaters Apparated into a forest clearing with two distinct cracks that sounded to all the world like a car back firing twice. They both stood for a moment, looking around, listening for even the most remote sound that would give them an indication as to what might have happened. They both knew that very soon this place would be crawling with around a hundred or more of their kind, but they also knew that they were the first to arrive.

A moment before the Dark Mark on their respective arms had burned black with an intensity that had caused them to both cry out in pain – then it had disappeared, as though it had never been there at all. They both Apparated, using what was left of the magical trail to trace their Master.

The taller of the two pushed his hood back from his head and looked around. He looked at the other, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. After a moment the other pushed his own hood back.

"Lucius", the taller man stated crisply.

"Severus," the shorter nodded in reply.

Severus Snape looked a little closer at Lucius Malfoy, he had something on his robes, over the shoulder. Frowning he scratched his own shoulder, muttering, "you have a little something there."

Lucius pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped absently. "Draco was sick."

"What, you sit around in you traveling robes then?"

"I was going out and Narcissa asked me to hold him."

"Charming."

Lucius blanched. Over the past 18 months Severus had watched one small child reduce the normally reserved and powerful Lucius Malfoy to putty. Severus was the boys' Godfather and he couldn't comprehend it. He hated children as a rule. Draco Malfoy was, he had to admit, an exceptionally cute child, but Severus Snape had never put much stock in cute. Draco's main functions seemed to be eat, sleep, shit, cry and puke. Now Lucius was turning up to a call for help from Lord Voldemort with what looked like a chalky milk vomit on his shoulder. It could've been worse, as Draco had been eating solids for over a year now.

"So, can you sense him at all?" Lucius asked. He couldn't sense his Master and that panicked him a little. Snape was far more adept in that department than he was, so he decided not to let the panic overwhelm him just yet.

"No, not at all." Snape frowned, "Where are we?"

"Godrics Hollow."

Snape seemed to grow paler, he swallowed a couple of times, trying to produce saliva. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. He told me he was coming here." Lucius looked about for a source of light that would guide them somewhere other than the clearing they were currently standing in.

They both found the light at the same time. It was faint and flickering, like the remains of a fire, and they both made for it, walking at a fast pace, each wondering exactly what they were going to find. Neither had ever known the Dark Lord to send out a message like the one they had received, one so strong as to cause that kind of pain. The more startling revelation of course was that the mark had disappeared entirely after the pain had stopped.

"How's Narcissa?" Snape asked, trying to keep the mood as light as he could. He was 21 years old and he did not have the composure of his companion who, at 27 was still looking a little spooked. Snape had a sourness to his demeanor that often hid most of his youth and inexperience from his peers. Lucius Malfoy had no such help. Nature had seen fit to bless him with a flawless face and a look that could have descended from the fairie realm. His only defense had been to practice detachment, and he did so with a natural adeptness for the art. Until the birth of his son, most had suspected that Lucius was not quite human. No emotion crossed his face unless he had just cause to display it. For him to be looking edgy was enough to spook Snape into greater haste.

"Narcissa is fine."

"Is she coming?"

"No, she has to look after Draco."

"Why can't the House Elves do that?"

Lucius threw a disdainful look at Snape and while not breaking stride he let Snape know exactly what he considered appropriate care for his pride and joy.

"He's really very clever you know," Lucius was warming to his favorite topic now, "he can say Dog and Cissa and he can say my name… well, mostly say my name. He can yell 'NON!'... just like that, it's hilarious because every time he does the damn Elf comes running."

"I'm glad you're teaching him something." Snape never did approve of the way Lucius treated his House Elves, now the baby was yelling at them.

They paused at the edge of the clearing and stared at the house in front of them. Dust and smoke seemed to be rising from the back of it, the front appeared to be intact and normal, with the exception that the door had been blasted off its hinges and all the windows were broken. It was a very ordinary two-storey cottage that any Muggle anywhere could be living in. But they both knew that no Muggles lived here.

Hesitating for a moment, Lucius stepped forward first and approached the house. Snape soon followed suit and they peered cautiously in through the door.

"Master?" Lucius called softly. There was no answer, the only sound was that of a baby crying, but it seemed far away, and muffled somehow.

They stepped through the door and followed the path of destruction to the living room, or what remained of it. The house was a wreck. Whatever battle had been fought there was now well and truly over. At the foot of the stairs lay the body of a man, lying face down, his wand still curled in his hand.

 _"Accio Wand."_

The wand flew to Lucius' hand, proving to them both that this man was most definitely dead. They both knew who it was.

"Master?" Lucius called again, "Master are you here?"

Once again there was no answer and Lucius began to ascend the stairs. Snape stood for a moment over the body on the floor before rolling it over with his boot. It was hard to understand what emotions went through him as he looked on the face of his tormentor, frozen now, forever defiant. He looked as though death surprised him. He looked a great deal like his son would years into the future. James Potter was harder than his son, his face was more angular, the nose larger, the lips thinner and the jaw slightly squarer. The curse that had killed him hadn't even broken his glasses.

Snape crouched beside him and let his fingers trail down over the cheek to his throat and searched for the pulse he knew he wouldn't find.

"I hate to be the one who said _'I told you so_ ', Potter," Snape sneered softly. He then stood and dusted his robes off before following Lucius up the stairs.

The baby's crying was louder on the second floor and it had reached a fever pitch of shrill and relentless screams. Snape winced at the sound, wondering why people had children when they could make noise like that, and set about looking for Lucius.

Lucius was in the nursery at the back of the house, but as Snape made to enter Lucius blocked the doorway. "I don't think you want to come in here," he said calmly and of course his words spurred Snape past him and into the room.

The door had once again been blasted from its hinges and lay on the floor. One wall of the room had been blown out completely, as though someone had set off a bomb that had demolished it. The night sky shone into the room, chilling the place. Somewhere in the distance they could smell the smoke of an open fire from a neighboring house. Far enough away for them not to have noticed the catastrophe that had befallen the place. Under the rubble he could see the remains of a child's playpen, the screaming seemed to be coming from in there somewhere. The body of a woman lay sprawled in front of the rubble, her eyes wide open, staring unseeing at the sky.

The next scream did not come from the baby. It came from Snape. He hurled himself forward, landing heavily on his knees, removing skin and tearing holes in his robes. He was pulling the woman's body from the floor without realizing what he did. He pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair and crying unintelligible words into her ear.

"Nooooo, no Lily, please wake up, please, Lillllly, please wake up."

"She's dead Severus," Lucius said crisply.

Still rocking her body against him, holding her close for just that one time, Snape turned a hateful glare at Lucius, "you said he wouldn't kill her!"

"He said he wouldn't". Lucius shrugged, unconcerned. He crouched down next to a pile of robes on the floor, ignoring the harsh rasping sobs of his companion. With quick fingers he searched through the robes and drew back with amazement. In his hand was a wand, a very familiar wand, and one he had seen used on any number of occasions.

"He's gone," Lucius said, "Severus, he's gone."

Snape was lost to all reason or understanding. His face was buried in the thick russet colored hair of Lily Potter and he rocked her back and forward, lost in his grief. Lucius went to the rubble of the playpen and started pulling it out, chunk by chunk, until the screaming child was uncovered and the screaming was loud enough to make the room unbearable. He reached into the pen and lifted the baby out

Holding the child up in front of him he gave it a good once over and wrinkled his nose. It probably needed a nappy change.

"Hello," Lucius said in a strange sort of baby talk voice that actually drew Severus from his stricken state, "whose a little Dark Lord killer then?" He then began to bounce the baby around on his hip, going to what was left of a linen cupboard and finding a nappy.

To Snape's utter disgust he changed the nappy with the skill of a seasoned professional and dropped the dirty one in the nappy bin that had miraculously survived the attack unscathed. He then conjured up a bottle and stuck it in the child's mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Snape asked at last.

"Well, we couldn't leave him there in his own shit now could we?"

"Yes, we could."

Lucius ignored him and began to pace the room, rocking the baby who was now thoroughly content to suck its bottle and stare up at the man holding him. "You know," Lucius said after he was certain the baby was fine, "this could make things a little difficult for us. Obviously the brat here, what's his name?"

"Harry".

"Harry, here, has managed some kind of defense, the Gods only know what, and has done away with our Master. Now, that might leave us open to some rather sticky questions."

Snape looked up from Lily and glared once more at Lucius. The Dark Lord was gone? His mind worked quickly, no amount of grief would ever alter that process. If the Dark Lord was gone, then what was said about the prophecy was true. "Is he scarred in any way?" he asked.

Lucius checked, "Nice scar, lightening bolt, right on the forehead. I have to admit, The Dark Lord had fabulous aim…even if his choice of targets was a little off."

Snape frowned, Lily was a dead weight in his arms and any time from now the place would be crawling with Death Eaters, looking for their Master and willing to do anything they chose to her body. He forced a strange sort of calm to himself and looked at Lucius, "put the brat down and get the fuck out of here."

"Yes yes, in a moment." Lucius was still thinking, Snape could almost see his mind ticking over. "We could always take the brat with us."

"What?" Snape clutched Lily tighter. Then he gently, reverently, placed her on the ground and stood to face Lucius. "Are you insane? Why would we take him with us?"

"Well, he did kill the Dark Lord, so he must have some kind of power." Lucius held Harry up as though he were some kind of odd toy. Harry giggled and stuffed one small fist into his mouth, not realizing he was looking into the face of evil. "I would prefer he didn't grow up our enemy," Lucius said," Dumbledore knew that something like this could happen. I am sure he will use the brat if we don't."

"Put him down," Snape hissed, "I would rather kill him than use him."

"Kill him?" Lucius laughed, "now I don't see any occasion for that. Besides, we don't know if he can be killed. He dispatched the Dark Lord, what's to stop him from dispatching us in a similar fashion?"

Snape shrugged.

"And would you kill her child?" Lucius indicated to Lily on the ground. Upon seeing Snape look down at the woman on the floor and cover his face to suppress a sob, Lucius turned his attention back to the child. "Do you want to come home with me?" he asked in the baby voice he had used before. Harry started to laugh. "I have a baby too, and you could play with him. We have a lake with ducks, do you like ducks?"

Noticing the blue romper suit with ducks on the pocket, Lucius decided that he did.

"Put him down," Snape said again, "there will be thousands of people looking for him. How are you going to explain where you got him from?"

Malfoy sighed and looked at the child a little wistfully. "Fine, I'll let him grow up Dumbledore's tool instead of ours, but I warn you, you might live to regret it."

Snape had no doubt he would.

Lucius left then, bidding farewell, he had to get home and set his house in order. He knew that the Ministry would descend on the place as soon as they learned that the Dark Lord was gone and he didn't need any incriminating evidence lying around. As soon as Snape was sure he had gone he lit a fire and knelt into it.

"Dumbledore," Snape said, masking the grief he felt with militant formality, "Lily is dead."

~

Severus Snape woke up. He hadn't had that dream for the longest time. He thought he had banished it forever. He was obviously wrong. He sat up and let the last shreds of the dream fall off him like a caul and wondered how much of it was dream and how much was the horror of the memory.

~

She should have expected it. She did expect it. It was just that she expected it when he first got to Hogwarts, not four days later, when she had settled down and accepted that he was there. Now it was Saturday and she was minding her own business and along comes Krum. Of course he would choose to come now that she was alone. Everyone else she knew was nursing a hangover and sleeping in. Just as she should be, but she had decided against the Friday evening trip to Hogsmeade, settling instead for study.

She was regretting that decision now as his voice, unmistakable with its fractured English said, "Herm-own-ninny."

She almost choked on her cereal. Then she quickly turned her head and forced an awful smile to her face. It was her fake smile, the one that started to hurt if she left it in place too long. "Viktor," she said through clenched teeth, "how are you?"

"I am vell," he said, his English had improved, "How are you? I vas shocked vhen I learned you had come back to Hogvarts, but I am also pleased."

She felt the corners of her mouth start to ache as her lips stretched further into the smile.

Krum recognized the smile, he had seen her give the same smile to Karakoff years before, but he didn't blame her for her reluctance to be nice to him. He had, after all, treated her with abominable contempt.

"I…" He paused and looked a little helpless, "I vas vovdering if you vould like to have dinner vith me?"

Hermione frowned, "Oh, um, Viktor, I don't know if that would be such a good idea."

"Only as friends," he said hastily. "Dumbledore has most kindly offered me the position here and I do not vish to jeopardize it in any vay. It is just that I don't know anyone here and I thought that because ve vere once good friends, perhaps ve could reconcile our differences over a friendly dinner."

He was so formal he could have been reading it off a cue card and Hermione felt herself feel a little sorry for him. She was also aware of whispering from the table behind her. Loud whispers from the Slytherin table about how Viktor Krum must've taken a real nose-dive to be asking her out. Her indignation clicked firmly into place and she turned her head to glare at the pasty-faced girl who had made the remark before offering a far more sincere smile to Krum.

It was ridiculous. She had never worried about comments regarding her looks before. She had never been so incredibly aware of them before either. As a child she was certain that she would grow into some doe like creature like all girls were supposed to, she never expected to be short and slight and freckled. As much as she hated to admit it, she envied Lavender and while she would never trade her brain for beauty, she was fast learning that people like Lavender had a certain kind of intelligence and a worldliness that Hermione would never understand – and that irritated her beyond belief. So when Hermione heard comments from some doughy looking Slytherin girl who would never want for suitors simply by some accident of birth that she had been born a Pureblood Witch, she felt her own esteem sink into the stone floor.

Krum asking her to dinner stroked her ego and she knew it. She tried not to lie to herself on a regular basis, and the fact that she was now saying yes to him was a clear indicator that she desperately wanted her ego stroked. She couldn't imagine Severus Snape asking her out to dinner. She could imagine him bundling her into a broom cupboard and touching her all over, but he would never take her out in public, never show her off.

"I have been told that there is a nice restaurant in Hogsmeade," Krum said pleasantly, still keeping to his formal cue card speech, "perhaps we could go there tonight?"

"Tonight?" She chewed her lip frantically. Severus wasn't due back until tomorrow, and it wasn't a date or anything, they were going to dinner as friends go to dinner. Hermione had male friends, she knew the concept was possible, she just hoped that Viktor Krum did too. "Um, sure, why not, tonight sounds fine."

"Vonderful, I shall make arrangements for eight o'clock?"

"Sure," she laughed nervously, "eight sounds great. Um, I'll… I'll meet you there."

"Excellent." Krum smiled at her. That was fine, very fine indeed.

~

"Are you awake?"

"Mmm"

Harry smiled. Draco did not sound particularly awake, which wouldn't be a surprise, he'd had an awful lot to drink last night. For a moment Harry hoped Ron was alright. An evening at the Three Broomsticks had ended with Ron and Draco having their usual mouth off and Draco had hexed him with a Leg Locker curse and gone home – leaving Ron to the mercy of his friends all of whom were far too drunk to do the counter curse. Harry could only hope that the spell had worn off after Draco had gone to sleep.

Harry was settled into the curve of Draco's arm, the damp morning chill that pervaded the room was cold on their bodies and he pulled the blankets over them. Beneath the heavy covers, Draco moved a little, drawing Harry closer. It was like being in a warm pocket of space reserved exclusively for him.

He lifted his head to inspect Draco who was lying on his back, his eyes still closed.

"Do you want to go to the Quidditch today?"

"No," Draco replied, not opening his eyes.

Harry yawned and rested his cheek against Draco's chest, "It's Gryffindor versus Slytherin," he coaxed.

"No," Draco said again, but there was a smile in his voice.

"Why not?"

"Because that would involve getting out of bed, having a shower and getting dressed and then you would be obliged to go and sit in Gryffindor with the Weasel."

"Well –" Harry shifted position, draped an arm across Draco's stomach and stroked the sharp hill of Draco's hip bone, "you could come and sit in Gryffindor with us."

"I would rather choke on my own vomit." Draco smiled, he still hadn't opened his eyes but he tangled his fingers sleepily in Harry's messy hair.

It was the first morning that they didn't need to get out of bed. Harry didn't need to run back to his room before dawn. There were no classes to be had, no detentions to be served and thanks to the Invisibility Cloak, Harry could walk out into the crowded Common Room at any time and no one would be any the wiser. They could stay in bed all day, cocooned in this shared warmth and they would both be extremely happy.

Except that Harry had promised Hermione that he would go into Hogsmeade with her that afternoon and do some shopping for Christmas. As much as he hated to admit it, he hoped Ron wasn't around so that Draco could go with them. He felt a guilty pang at that, but wrapped in Draco's body, it didn't last long.

Ron still thought Harry had a secret girlfriend and while he seemed a little put out that Harry refused to give him her name, he hadn't pushed the issue. He seemed preoccupied at the moment anyway. He had mentioned to Harry about going home for Christmas alone and Harry had been incredibly understanding, making Ron grateful and Harry guilty. Since then Harry had felt a distance between them growing and he wasn't certain who was creating it, him or Ron. Their conversations seemed now to consist of superficial humor. Ron would give Harry a ribbing about the veritable garden of rosebuds he had on the contract and no full roses, Harry would rib Ron about his seeming inability to execute a perfect Wronski Feint despite the fact that Viktor Krum was now on staff to give him instruction. Meanwhile, Ron was living in fear that Angelina would tell George about what they had done and Harry was wondering if there was any nutritional value in semen as he seemed to have swallowed a lot of it in the past few days – in fact he'd been unable to stop smiling since Wednesday.

Harry lay there for a moment, listening to Draco's heartbeat and breathing in time with the slow rise and fall of Draco's chest. He knew that Draco was sinking back into sleep and an irrational part of his mind didn't want that to happen. He was lying in bed on a Saturday morning with the first (and hopefully last) lover of his life and the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. He felt more alive than he had ever felt, he wanted to laugh and fuck. Hell, he wanted to talk, unlock the secrets of Draco's mind, talk about nonsense, talk about anything.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"If you had a million Galleons, what would you do with it?"

"Add it to the pile."

Harry laughed silently. "So you already have a million Galleons?"

"You could say I have quite a few."

"Quite a few Galleons or quite a few million Galleons?"

"Quite a few million Galleons." Draco yawned and stretched, realizing that he wasn't going to get back to sleep any time soon.

"What would you do if you were really poor?"

"I'm not really poor."

"But what if you were?"

Draco laughed and sighed, "I'd live off you of course."

Harry grinned. "What makes you think I have any money?"

"I don't. You'd just have to get a job and keep me in the manner to which I have become accustomed." He stroked Harry's hair, "so are you really poor then?" he asked with more than a little interest.

"Would you hate me if I was?"

Draco considered this, "No," he said after a time, "I just like to know who my dependents are."

Harry began to laugh out loud now. "Dependents?" He kissed the smooth flesh of Draco's chest and flicked his tongue over a pink nipple. Draco finally opened his eyes and stared back at Harry who was watching him intently. "I'm not really poor," Harry said quietly.

"Are you rich?"

"Let's just say I am comfortably well off."

"My what a gentleman. You should start dressing like you're 'comfortably well off'." Draco yawned again. "So, did you inherit your fortune?"

Harry pushed his way up the bed, found Draco's mouth and kissed him deeply. He loved this, he loved the fact that he could just kiss Draco and have no fear that he would be rejected. He loved the fact that Draco's tongue automatically sort passage into his mouth and that Draco's hands gently caressed him from the top of his thigh, over his butt and all the way up his back in long languid strokes.

"I inherited money from my parents," Harry said, "when my Godfather died he left me his house in London and his vault at Gringotts."

It seemed an odd conversation. For a moment Harry felt as though he was showing off, flaunting his wealth, proving that he didn't need Draco and the Malfoy millions to take care of him. Perhaps proving that he could take care of Draco if he had to. It was a moot point. Draco Malfoy would never want for a Sickle, ever.

"I've been told that your Godfather was Sirius Black."

"Yeah, he was."

"I think he was my mother's cousin. I remember Aunt Bellatrix saying something about it."

Harry tensed. Aunt Bellatrix had killed her cousin and laughed like a wailing banshee when she did it. Draco felt Harry tense and sighed. A feeling of dismay settled in his gut.

"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly, " I will attempt not to mention any member of my family while we are in bed."

It's not that," Harry closed his eyes and frowned, as though trying to remove a memory from his head, "Bellatrix Lestrang…"

"Killed Sirius Black." this wasn't looking good, Draco rolled his eyes, "I know, I remember that summer pretty well."

"How do you know she killed him? Who told you?"

Draco closed his eyes and wished that he hadn't opened them. This really wasn't going to end well. He wondered for a moment why it always came down to this sort of shit and he decided that the answer was easy; the difference between them was too great, the conflict was too old and deep. He knew there was no point lying to Harry and he did not want to lie. "She told me," he said.

"Bellatrix Lestrange told you that she killed Sirius?"

"Well, she told my mother, I was there when she told her."

Harry rolled away from Draco and lay on his back beside him, staring at the ceiling, blinking.

Draco sat up, so much for a Saturday morning sleep in, he was wide awake now, his low grade wine hangover was making his head ache and he wasn't in the mood to have this conversation right now. "Look, maybe you should go, we can talk about this later."

"You want me to leave?" Harry sounded incredulous and Draco instantly regretted suggesting it.

He should have said no, that he wanted Harry to stay, instead he heard himself saying; "I just don't want to spend the next hour trying to either justify my families choices, or lie outright and say "oh yes Harry, they were bad people and they all deserved to die a slow and painful death." You knew who I was when you got into bed, so don't get that 'oh so shocked and hurt' look on your face. I'm tired, I'm hungover and I just want to get some sleep. So shut the fuck up or leave."

Harry sat up and swung his legs out of the bed.

 _Shit._

Draco pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets for a second and then thumped his fists back down onto the bed. Harry was picking his clothes up off the floor and Draco couldn't help but indulge himself for a moment, watching the way the muscles moved in Harry's legs and arms, the way his spine rippled with each twist of movement. Silently Draco climbed out of the bed and went to Harry, embracing him from behind.

"Don't go," he whispered gently.

"You told me to leave," Harry said angrily.

"Come back to bed."

"You told me to shut the fuck up or leave."

"You can talk as much as you want," he kissed Harry's perfect shoulder, "come back to bed."

Harry really couldn't concentrate when Draco was doing that. He could feel Draco's body pressed against him from behind, his palms flat against Harry's chest and belly.

"Did you like her?" Harry asked quietly, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was now hard and begging for attention that Draco would no doubt be happy to give – just so long as they dropped their current topic of conversation.

"Who?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange?"

 _Oh Good God._ "Does it matter?" Draco felt his irritation rise up a notch. He dropped his arms and found his bathrobe.

"Yes it matters," Harry began pulling his robes on, "she was a fucking evil bitch, she killed him and she laughed when she did it and when I tried to hurt her she…." He stopped. He had screamed " _Crucio_ " at her, knocked her down even, but she'd got back up and taught him a valuable lesson. Righteous anger wasn't enough, you had to want to hurt someone, you had to enjoy hurting people, that was the nature of the Unforgivables.

Draco watched the war of emotions in Harry's eyes. He then wrapped his robe tightly around himself and sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't really know her," he said, resigned to the fact that they were going to have this out. "She was in Azkaban for most of my life and when I met her, that summer, my Father was in there and I wasn't thinking too kindly of you." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "From what I know of her, she was my Mothers younger sister, my Father could have married her but chose my mother instead. I think they had some kind of affair, but I can't be sure. She helped him escape from Azkaban, but I don't think he liked her very much. She was higher up with the Dark Lord than he was and it pissed him off. She had a really horrible, high-pitched laugh and she screamed a lot instead of speaking. As to whether I liked her or not, I don't know, I didn't know her well enough to form an opinion." He looked Harry in the eye, "I know that's not the answer that you want to hear, but it's the only one I have."

Harry rounded on him, surprising him with his sudden vehemence. "I don't get you," Harry cried, "you seem like this really intelligent person yet you can't see what is patently obvious. Why can't you just admit that they were bad people? Why can't you just admit that they were wrong?"

"Because there are two sides to every battle," Draco replied hotly, "and to suggest that someone is a one dimensional villain simply because they aren't on your side is ludicrous."

"Who are you defending?" Harry demanded, "Bellatrix Lestrange or your Father?"

"Leave my Father out of this."

"I can't leave him out of this, because everything with you comes back to him. If you would just take off your rose colored glasses for five minutes you might be able to see him for what he was!"

"Oh really?" Draco drawled, "and what was he?"

"He was a fucking evil son of a bitch who liked hurting and killing people!"

"SO DID YOU!" Draco yelled suddenly, "you justify it by saying they were bad people so they deserved it, but you had to enjoy it or you couldn't have done it. I remember you, I saw you, standing there in the middle of my fucking courtyard covered from head to toe in blood and grinning like a fucking madman, so don't you ever accuse me of wearing rose colored glasses when you're as blind as the rest of us. Just look at your friend Moody and tell me how right and good he is…"

"WHAT DOES MOODY HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?"

"HE HAS PLENTY TO DO WITH IT!"

"Moody didn't kill people for fun, I didn't kill people for fun. We didn't kill Muggles who had no chance of defending themselves. Don't you try and bring Moody into this when his only crime was to make sure that scum like Voldemort didn't win and that his supporters got what was coming to them."

"So torturing Death Eaters families is alright in your books then is it? A conviction at any cost?"

"What the fuck are you on about? Moody didn't…."

"Get out," Draco hissed, "just get out of here." He began shoving Harry's clothes at him, pushing him roughly towards the door. "Go back to the Weasel and your pitiful little life and leave me out of it." He shoved Harry out into the corridor and unceremoniously dumped the invisibility cloak over his head before slamming the door in his face.

Harry stood for a moment staring at the door making a mental note to never bring up any conversation that would lead to Draco's family ever again. Which of course ruled out all conversation.

One thing rang true, Harry did know who Draco was when he got into bed. There was no point trying to romanticize Draco Malfoy. He had never been a lonely, misunderstood kid who had been beaten and bullied into being a nasty, evil little prick. No, Draco Malfoy was the product of an ancient family line of Dark Wizards who spoiled him rotten – literally. Draco liked his family, he was proud of his heritage; he'd defend it to the death.

Even if that heritage was an evil family born of darkness.

Harry sighed, adjusted the Invisibility Cloak and went back to his own room.

~

Curator Semeuse had never had cause to regret the position of the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities until the morning that saw the opening of the Dark Magic and Death Eaters Exhibition. From the window of his office he could look down into the street below and the sight he beheld both thrilled and terrified him.

A multitude of Wizards and Witches had begun to assemble in the street and mill about the Muggle market stalls exclaiming at how quaint some of the wares were and laughing outright at others. Magical people would never understand why someone would want buy a statuette that would not move, a mirror that could not talk or a photograph that could not wave back at you. A few were purchasing football merchandise, liking the colors immensely but having no idea who Manchester United was, only that they liked the red, or that just because you like blue and white does not justify the purchase of a Queens Park Rangers scarf.

Most of the Muggles decided that some strange convention was taking place in Soho that day and so long as they were making sales they didn't really care about the odd assortment of men and women dressed in the strangest looking clothes they had ever seen. Some of Witches and Wizards assembled had made a small attempt at dressing in Muggle clothes, most hadn't even bothered, knowing that they were about to meet en-mass, they refused to be shown up by anyone else and had worn some of their finest robes. From his window high above Semeuse smiled, they really couldn't help showing off when they all got together.

How everyone was going to get into the building un-noticed was going to be an issue. Muggles were notorious for not noticing what was right under their noses, but having a thousand or so people disappear into a wall might cause alarm bells to ring. As if to answer his silent question, he noticed a number of Ministry Officials moving through the crowd in pin striped suits, zapping the occasional Muggle with a memory charm if a careless Witch or Wizard tried to pay with a Galleon instead of a pound, or used a charm to draw something to them for a closer look.

Semeuse mentally checked that everything was ready. Lucius had been bathed, his hair dried and brushed, he had been dressed in a fresh shift that was clean and white and modest. There had been the need to change the case at the last minute after Semeuse had discovered a problem with the humidity. It seemed Lucius breathed at a higher rate than the others and the ventilation was inadequate. To the Curators dismay, his Angels hair had taken to frizzing in the most ungainly fashion because of the damp and that simply wouldn't do. A new case had been constructed and Lucius had been placed in it only yesterday and this morning, at last check, he was looking his usual perfect self.

Except he simply wouldn't sit up straight, but there was little Semeuse could do about that without wiring him and that was something he refused to do. No, he would be fine, he looked beautiful, wonderful, perfect. He had to.

Semeuse left the window and headed to the Sais Room to check just one last time.

Lucius was indeed looking perfect, if a little slumped in the corner of the case. His hair had grown longer, it never seemed to stop or slow and at the moment it was curling into tendrils that were lighter than gold and not yet silver and filling the bottom of the case. Semeuse knew he should cut it, but he could not bring himself to cut something that looked as though it had been spun by the dawn.

He opened the case and twisted a lock of hair around his fingers. Then, abandoning all sense of his timetable, he pulled Lucius bodily from the case, enjoying the weight of him, refusing to use a charm to lift him. The public could wait; he needed this moment.

He laid the Angel on the floor and removed the shift. It was a good one, Egyptian cotton and it wouldn't do to get it dirty now. Sitting back he took in the sight of the body, naked and almost painfully thin, long hair spread around his head like a corona, his clear eyes stared unblinking back at Semeuse. He could have been dead. Except that he wasn't. He was very much alive.

"We have met before," Semeuse smiled, "I hadn't remembered before, it was a long time ago. Your Father brought you here, he was going to donate some money to the museum and you were playing with the sacred bundles in The Eretria Room, do you remember? You broke one and I was so angry I demanded that your Father replace it and he beat you then and there. Do you remember that Lucius? You were a very naughty little boy." He traced the line of his Angels cheek and pushed his thumb between the pale lips to stroke the soft pink tongue inside.

Some small part of him longed for a bed, but there would be time for that later, when everyone had gone home he would take Lucius to his bed, for now the floor would have to do.

He pushed Lucius' legs back against his pale chest, not bothering with the task of preparing Lucius, there simply wasn't time and he enjoyed the friction against his cock. Semeuse positioned himself against Lucius' entrance and pushed his hips forward. He felt the strong ring of muscle grip around the head of his cock and he waited impatiently for the muscles to become used to the sensation and relax, allowing him to push deeper into Lucius' body.

The feel of Lucius's inner muscles clenching and the heat around his cock was magnificent, as it always was and he gave into animalistic fucking, knowing there was no time to truly savor the feel of his lover, he had to get this over with, there was time later for gentleness. Then came the first slick of blood and he cursed silently. Lucius always bled, he was prone to do so and with the blood came another familiar feeling and one that made the bleeding worthwhile. The odd sensation and feeling of hands pushing him away, light and ineffectual, like breaths of air. He could feel them, pushing desperately at his body, trying to push him away. He had experienced this before and had come to the conclusion that it was some kind of residual magic left inside Lucius, a simple defense that would never win but still tried to do so. It didn't surprise Semeuse. Lucius had been a powerful Wizard, and it made sense that some kind of primitive instinctive magic might be left in his body. The resistance was also quite delicious. Not effectual enough to stop him, instead the feeling was almost erotic, as though Lucius was an active, albeit unwilling participant. The sensation hastened his orgasm along and he came deep inside Lucius and fell onto the warm body, relishing the feeling of feather light fingers still trying to push him away.

He cast a quick charm to clean them both up and hoped that Lucius would not bleed a great deal. He quickly pulled the shift back over his head and hauled him back into the case. Semeuse propped him up in the corner of the case and pulled the shift down over his legs. He had no desire to show the public more than was absolutely necessary; some things were his and his alone to enjoy. He then began to tend the long tendrils of hair that were now disheveled and decidedly erotic. It was tempting to leave him that way, but he knew he couldn't. He brushed it straight, like a curtain of light and closed the door to the case, locking Lucius in and the world out.

The Dark Magic and Death Eater Exhibition was ready to open.

~

"Professor Snape, you cannot remove those books from the library."

Snape glared at Madam Pince and continued on his way out the door.

"Professor, I will have to inform Dumbledore if you do not respect my authority in the library."

He turned, the armful of books he was carrying was getting remarkably heavy and he really wanted to get them downstairs. "Madam Pince, I believe that you should spend more of your time ensuring that the students behave themselves and less sticking your nose in to my affairs. Professor Dumbledore has no qualms with my removing these books from the library and I shall return them promptly." He pushed past her, leaving her standing there infuriated.

Oddly enough, Pince was one of the few people at Hogwarts that he could tolerate with equanimity, but today he just couldn't be bothered with niceties. He had come back early to ensure that he got every book on Angelic Magic that the library had to offer before any know it all student like Granger took it upon themselves and decided they wanted to learn the intricacies of the art. Madam Pince was no doubt more concerned that he had taken half the books from the Restricted Section out and they were currently sailing down the stairs to the dungeons. He was gambling on her not mentioning this to Dumbledore because if she did he would be forced to explain and what did he say then?

"Oh sorry Albus, you see, while I was at the Museum I got this odd feeling that Lucius wasn't quite gone and when I went through his things all pointers seemed to indicate that he had conjured up an Angel and stolen its' wings in order to make a potion to save his soul."

It sounded stupid even to his ears. He also doubted that Dumbledore would allow him to do anything about it. As revolted about the punishment as Albus was, Dumbledore wasn't about to allow anyone to try and set Lucius Malfoy free and Snape wasn't about to be the one responsible for setting him free.

If he could be freed.

If Snape wasn't going mad and imagining all of this.

The one benefit that he had derived from having this to concentrate on was that he had managed to push all thoughts of the rather delectable Miss Granger from his head for a few days. Now that he was back it was harder. He could detect her scent in his office and decided it was time to have the House Elves disinfect the place.

He was dreading Monday. He figured he could avoid her all weekend, but on Monday he was going to have to teach a class with her in it and all attempts at keeping his hands off her had thus far failed miserably. Of course, he had other things to think about now, and that was very fortunate indeed. She was also very young, and the young had marvelous powers of recuperation. As far as he knew she could have a new crush to focus on. It was only when one grew older that absence made the heart grow fonder.

Well that wasn't entirely true, he had pined after one person for years from the time of his youth, but he wasn't an ordinary child.

Neither is she.

Yes, but I was completely fucked in the head.

Point taken.

He left the library and headed down the stairs towards his private chambers. This was not a topic to study in his office, and she might come to his office. He didn't want her to know he was back. Of course, if that were true he wouldn't be in the Library in the first place, it was the place she considered a second home and he knew it. He would also be taking the back stairs instead of the main stairs that all of the students use.

These are more direct.

Liar.

It didn't matter any way. She hadn't been there. He ignored the feeling that seemed very much like disappointment and kept going. He had more important things to think about right now.

~

Remus Lupin had resolved not to attend the Death Eater Exhibition. He had spent months denouncing it. He had actively campaigned to have it scraped – as a Werewolf it was hard for him to get the Ministry to take him seriously, but he had campaigned nonetheless. He had reasoned that these people had families who still had to be considered, they did not want their relatives dragged all over the country being observed and heckled by the masses. It had done no good at all. The Exhibition opened, and for some reason – he would only ever be able to put it down to morbid curiosity – Remus found himself paying his five Galleons and going inside.

He had to admit that the Dark Arts paraphernalia was fascinating, although he wondered where it was collected from and if it was even legal. He would hate for such a collection to fall into the wrong hands. He also noticed that the display cases were warded very heavily, people could look but they certainly could not touch. Aurors dotted around the entrance to the Death Eaters room were eyeing everyone with suspicion. They needn't have worried, most of the people coming out of the darkened display room appeared pale and un-nerved, Remus had even heard a couple of people express the sentiment, "you almost feel sorry for them." Something he never imagined he would ever hear said about a Death Eater.

He edged closer to the doorway, letting it loom up large before giving up all pretense and plunging into the darkness. He regretted it immediately. His first instinct was to turn and flee, but he didn't. He was unsure of what to expect, perhaps a something like a Muggle waxworks, or a house of horrors, but this was nothing like anything he'd seen or heard of before. The room was dark with twelve glass cases on black pedestals. Each of the glass cases was filled with a white light that made the case and its contents appear to be suspended in space. Try as he might Remus' eyes would not adjust to the dark and the only way he could see individual faces in the crowd was as people were milling around the light cast from within the cases.

The Death Eaters appeared to be stiff somehow. Sitting in their cases as though petrified. As Remus approached to look more closely into their vacant eyes he realized that they had been wired, in much the same way that a Muggle would wire a flower. The wire had been passed through limbs, and he could see neat holes drilled into flesh at the wrists and any visible joints. The fine wires held hands to knees, backs straight and faces forward.

He wondered if they could feel pain, he hoped not.

"Gods that's awful." a shocked voice exclaimed next to him.

He nodded dumbly to the person beside him.

"I guess they deserve it though." the voice stated indecisively.

He nodded again, perhaps they did. But he really couldn't bring himself to say that. By doing this the Ministry was proving itself to be as bad as the Death Eaters, and he was just as guilty for paying to gawk at them.

"Professor Lupin?"

It had been a long time since anyone called him that. He looked closer at the man next to him and in the dim glow of the case he made out Ron Weasley. "Hello Ron," he said quietly.

"I didn't think you were coming," Ron said staring at the case.

"I wasn't. I didn't think any of your family would come."

"Well, I only came to see Malfoy, but the crowd around him is too deep. I'm just killing time till I can get a good view of him."

Remus frowned, "Why would you come all the way from school just to see Lucius Malfoy?" he asked, a little disturbed. He knew just how much the Weasley's hated the entire Malfoy clan, but Arthur and Molly had been against this too. It seemed odd that Ron was here.

"I just want to see him. After what he did to Charlie, I just want to know he's getting what he deserves."

"They never proved it was him," Remus said gently. Not that it mattered, Ron had believed it was Malfoy who had killed his brother from the moment it happened. The Death Eater who killed him was wearing a mask and a hood, but he flew like Malfoy and he carried a black staff, just as Malfoy had.

"It was him," Ron said bitterly.

The crowd around Malfoy's case was thinning and they took the opportunity of making their way to it before others had the chance.

Lucius Malfoy was not wired like the others and somehow that made it worse. The others did not look quite human or alive; they were far too stiff, like dolls arranged in boxes. Malfoy on the other hand was slumped in the corner of his case, his knees drawn up and the white shift he was wearing covered him entirely. His hair was so incredibly long that it trailed across the floor of the case and his face was pale and starting to look gaunt. His pink-rimmed eyes looked haunted, as though he had cried recently and did not resemble the dead things of the other exhibits, they were clear and a little glassy, as though he could cry. He looked as though he were cowering in the corner of the case, although it was impossible for him to be doing so. No, the Curator had put him in there like that, so that he looked for all the world like some kind of unearthly innocent, someone that shouldn't be here. He looked incredibly young despite his forty-five years.

"How could he look like that?" Ron asked after a time. "How could he look like he's the one that has had all the wrongs in the world done to him. He's the most evil of the whole fucking bunch and he looks like that."

Remus did not have an answer to that. He had seen Lucius Malfoy on countless occasions and whilst no one would ever dispute that he was a good-looking man, he had never looked like this. Even as a thin stream of drool escaped his mouth and slid down his chin, he still looked innocent, perhaps even more so. Could it be that once the sneer and the aristocratic demeanor was stripped away, he could look like this? It had to be. It didn't seem fair.

"He didn't look like that before," Ron insisted, but then he paused and thought of Draco. Ferret. He had his moments, when no one was watching, when he was reading or peaceful or falling asleep in a chair, he had moments when he looked that young and that innocent. "He didn't look like that in battle," Ron finished lamely.

"I know, but everyone looks fearsome in battle."

They both heard the approach of the Curator and shuffled aside as he busied himself checking that all was well with the case, that no one had tried to harm his Angel in any way. Ron and Remus watched him go about his tasks and when he was finished he smiled pleasantly at them.

"I trust you are enjoying the exhibition," he said in a genial manner.

"I don't think 'enjoying' is the word," Remus replied, "it has been – interesting."

Semeuse cleared his throat and said nothing.

"We were just commenting that Malfoy here looks very…" Remus searched for a word, "um, good."

"Ah yes, a rare beauty," the Curator purred. Remus and Ron both stared at him, searching for any reason at all why someone would have such a sentiment about Lucius Malfoy. The Curator looked at the man in the glass box with a look of undeniable affection that made Remus shiver. "Did you know him?"

"You could say that," Ron's retorted, "I tried to kill him once but the bastard wouldn't die."

The Curators hand balled into a fist in his robes. "Well, I am glad you didn't, he is the jewel of the exhibition, one of a kind."

Ron snorted loudly. The Curator was obviously a few Sickles short of a Galleon. "Hardly one of a kind, not while he's got Ferret running around loose."

The Curator was well and truly confused at the red head, he frowned, "A Ferret?" he asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

"He means Draco," Remus replied, nudging Ron. "Draco Malfoy is Lucius Malfoy's son."

Semeuse smiled tightly, the son. The damn son who was a troublesome boy who would probably not sell the Angel to him. "Ah yes, the boy at Hogwarts. You know him then."

"Yeah, fucking little wanker."

"Ron!" Remus smiled, "yes, we know him. I taught him in his third year Defense classes. It was a while ago now."

Semeuse frowned again. A while ago? But the boy was only a child; it can't have been that long ago. "I was given to understand that Mr. Malfoy's son was a child at school."

"A child!" Ron laughed nastily. "He's the same age as me! Actually, I think he's a few months older."

Semeuse felt his eyes widen. Not a child. A man. He felt his mouth start to salivate in anticipation; the Angels son was a man. "Tell me, do they look anything alike?"

"Spitting image," said Remus.

"Chip off the old fucking block," said Ron.

A son, a man and he looked just like him. Direct bloodline. An old bloodline at that. Two of a kind. The Curators macabre collectors mind began to reel. A matching set.

And he's at Hogwarts.

~

 _Continued..._


	14. I'm Just a Jealous Guy Part 2

Chapter 8 Part 2

~

"You're back."

Snape turned and smiled at the form of Minerva McGonagall leaning against his doorframe. "I am," he said simply.

Minerva hobbled into the room and with some dismay Snape noticed that she was leaning heavily on her cane. She looked a little pale.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, knowing that she would say yes regardless of how she truly felt.

"Of course I am, my legs just feel a little stiff today, that's all." She sat down gratefully into one of the wing-backed chairs by the empty fireplace. Snape quickly set a fire in the grate and cast a warming charm around the room.

"I'll make you some _Osteofacilite Serum._ Have you been to see Poppy?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you go to the Quidditch today?"

"No, why?"

"Then you're not fine." He set a cauldron on the fire and disappeared for a few minutes to his office, leaving Minerva by the fire to contemplate his rather sparse chambers and enjoy the steam rising from the cauldron.

When Snape returned he started throwing things into the pot, some of which she really didn't like the look of. Things like flowers she could handle, it was when he was throwing ingredients that looked suspiciously like animal bladders into the cauldron that she really didn't care to know what went in to her medicines.

"You know what we haven't done in a long time?" she asked, watching him work and admiring his hands – something she considered his best feature.

"What?"

"We haven't been to dinner for months. Let's go to Ushers tonight, it'll be fun."

"I was really hoping to get some work done tonight Minerva, that's why I came back early."

"Are you going to refuse a feeble old girl like me? I could be at deaths door."

Snape felt his stomach flip. "I highly doubt you are at deaths door Minerva, you probably just need to keep taking your medicine," he said, forcing a derisive tone to his voice to mask the terror he felt when she mentioned dying.

"It tastes revolting."

"It's good for you."

She sighed and smiled at him, "come here"

"Why?"

"Just come here."

"Why?"

"I want you to hug me."

He tensed and frowned, "have you been drinking?"

"Do you have to ask so many questions? I am feeling melancholy, Dumbledore is at the Ministry and you are the only one I want a hug from other than him. Is that a good enough reason?"

He glared at her, knowing full well that he really didn't want to hug her. Not because he didn't like Minerva, he did, he just wasn't a particularly affectionate person. She was looking at him expectantly and he decided he was simply going to have to do it. He bent down and awkwardly enfolded her in long arms. He was surprised by just how tightly she returned the hug, and despite the fact that he was as tense as a board, he could see why people did this. The hug was extremely warm, almost motherly – not that his own mother had put much stock in hugging him. It became evident that she was crying and he pulled away and frowned again, "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"It's nothing," she said, wiping her eyes with a scrap of a silk handkerchief, "I'm being stupid."

What was stupid was the utter impracticality of her tiny handkerchief. He stared at her questioningly, raising an eyebrow and silently prompting her to continue.

"I went to the Death Eater Exhibition." She blew her nose, "and I know I shouldn't have gone but I did and it was awful and all I could think about was that if you hadn't come over to our side when you did it could have been you in one of those bloody cases."

Ah, not good. "Well," he said slowly, trying to be gentle when all logic told him that he was standing here so why all the fuss. "I did come over to your side, so it is pointless speculating about it."

"I told you I was being stupid."

He rolled his eyes and replied as he knew he should; "you're not being stupid."

She looked at him with watery eyes and offered him a smile and suddenly he felt very grateful that he had her as a friend. Before he knew what he was doing he hugged her again, deciding that he must be going soft in his old age.

"Have dinner with me," she said into his chest and sniffled.

Like he could turn her down now, "you are an evil woman, you know that?"

"I know. Have dinner with me."

"Alright." He sighed, annoyed at himself for giving in just because she had shed a few paltry tears. "What time?"

"We should look at getting there for 7:30 pm. I've already made the reservation." She sat back from him and dried her eyes. "Now, how long is this stuff going to take you to make?"

~

Hermione should never have taken both Harry and Lavender into Hogsmeade with her. What started out as a peaceful trip to do some Christmas shopping had turned into Hermione buying robes for her date she didn't want to go on tonight with Viktor Krum.

So far, Lavender had vetoed everything Hermione had tried on and Harry was busy laughing his arse off at an article about the perfume zodiac in Witch Weekly.

"What do you think of this one?"

They both stared and grimaced in unison.

"You look like my Aunt Marge going to a wake," Harry said, his lip was curling in disgust.

"What's wrong with it?" Hermione stared at her reflection. It wasn't that bad!

"Nothing," Lavender said with disgust, "if you're thinking of taking the veil."

"Well I don't want to encourage him!"

"Yeah, but you don't want to look like a man repellent either!"

Hermione stamped her foot in frustration. She had purposely chosen something modest, high necked and long sleeves. Lavender had spent time studying the model clothing and pattern books, along with the samples of fabrics in varying shades and was trying to influence her to choose something more feminine.

"Look, just because you have a thing for Snape, it doesn't mean you have to dress like him," Lavender pointed out and shoved a set of robes in Forest Green Silk over Hermione's arm.

"She knows?" Harry asked, "Lavender knows about Snape?"

"Well obviously." Hermione pulled the curtain across in the change room.

"You mean I have kept my mouth shut for nothing?"

"What do you want to say?" Hermione called, not really wanting to hear Harry's opinion on this.

"OK, tell me again why you are going out tonight with Krum if you kind of have something going with our 'esteemed' Potions Master?"

"It isn't a date Harry."

"Then what is it?"

"He hasn't got any friends. He just wanted someone to take to dinner."

Harry and Lavender exchanged looks.

"Honey," Lavender said concerned, "a man doesn't take you to the most expensive restaurant in Hogsmeade to be your friend. He takes you to the pub to be your friend."

Hermione emerged from the change room in the green silk and surveyed her reflection. It really was a beautiful set of robes. Still high-necked, still modest, but with a more pronounced waist and full sleeves.

"I like this one," Hermione smiled at her reflection, "I really like this one."

"Yeah, it's beautiful," Harry said, "for going on a date with Krum. Looks very expensive, he should really think you have no interest in him at all."

"Now Harry," Lavender pointed out, "there's no reason for Hermione to look like a Hag just because she isn't interested in the guy."

"Alright then, answer me this, are you going to tell Snape about your 'friendly' dinner?"

Hermione chewed her lip, "well no, I wasn't planning on it."

"Why not, if it's just a 'friendly' dinner?"

"He might not understand."

"Exactly."

She rounded on Harry, "You hate Professor Snape…Severus, why are you suddenly carrying on like I'm betraying your best friend or something?"

"I'm not. I am just pointing out that if you like Snape you shouldn't go out with Krum because Snape will probably find out and you'll end up all depressed and miserable when he freaks out about it." Harry folded his arms, "although I have to add that Krum is probably a better catch than Snape, I mean, it's Snape… ewww."

"Harry?"

"Yes Lav?"

"Are you a fag?"

"WHAT!?"

"Well, only fags say "ewww""

"Oh fuck off!"

"Guys?"

They both turned back to Hermione who was staring at them, hand on hips.

"Can we just get these robes and get out of here. Lavender has to do my hair and make up yet."

Harry and Lavender exchanged looks again. So much for this not being a date.

~

Ushers in Hogsmeade had two factors that made it such a popular eatery. The first was that the menus were charmed to provide the diner with a range of dishes that they were guaranteed to like. The second was that the restaurant had adopted a Muggle style of ordering and being served by waiters, something that most Witches and Wizards found to be novel and quaint.

While Minerva perused her menu she took the opportunity to survey her dinner companion. It had taken a long time for them to trust each other. She remembered him as a child, mercilessly teased by James Potter and Sirius Black; he had been unpopular and as dark as the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. Darker than he was now. Not many would ever believe that, only those who had known him then could understand just how dark he had been. That he had become a Death Eater hadn't surprised her. It hadn't concerned her either. He was simply another enemy for the Order to face and at the time she had other worries to dwell on.

He had arrived at the castle one night, still dripping in darkness but with a look of desperation written across his features that had caused Dumbledore to take him in. His Master, the Dark Lord Voldemort, had turned his eye on James and Lily Potter and their child Harry, convinced that the rumors of a prophecy concerning the birth of a child that would be his downfall were true. Voldemort sought to kill the family, and Lily had to be protected, at all costs.

Lily Potter was the last person Minerva could remember Severus Snape ever loving, which was a shame because Lily had thought very little of him. Indeed, Minerva thought the very idea a travesty, Lily Potter and the reptilian Snape. The mans head must've been in the clouds. Minerva had begged Dumbledore not to take him in, not to trust him. He had been a rotten child, and he was a rotten man. One only had to look at where his path had taken him.

"Yes," Albus had said quietly, "the path to our door."

Later, after the Potters were dead, Voldemort gone and Harry was safely with his Aunt and Uncle, Albus had brought him to the school to teach. She would never understand that decision. He was a sour man who despised children. He was also Dumbledore's pet project. Minerva had done what every other member of staff had done. She avoided him, leaving him to his dungeons. Aside from Dumbledore, she doubted that anyone said two friendly words to him for five years. Then one night, at Dumbledore's request, he had turned up at the Three Broomsticks for drinks with the staff. Minerva had turned angrily on Albus, demanding to know why he had brought the dour Potions Master to the table when he knew the man wasn't welcome.

Albus had looked at her with sadness in his eyes and said, "he can hear you, Minerva, he's not deaf."

She had felt a shame that she had never felt before in the entire of her life and from that moment on she had made it her business to get to know him. It had taken another five years to actually develop a friendship. Now, some 13 years after that fateful night at the pub and she counted him as one of her greatest friends.

The truth was that Minerva McGonagall adored Severus Snape. If he wasn't a miserable, nasty bastard he just wouldn't be the same. It pained her that others couldn't appreciate him on the same level as she did. Of course, with a temperament that was naturally bad and a tendency to be just plain mean to everyone that he met, it did rule out a good many people actually wanting to get to know him, but Minerva still held out hope that some girl would come along and look under the surface to discover the wealth that was hidden there.

She was well aware that it may be a bit of a pipe dream.

"What are you eating?" Snape asked, sweeping his eye over his own menu and wondering what was on hers.

"I was thinking of the king tiger prawns in garlic."

"I do not envy Dumbledore tonight."

She laughed, "you never envy Dumbledore. He might come later, by the way, when he gets back from his meeting with Fudge."

At the mention of the Minister they both rolled their eyes and drank down a glass of wine.

Minerva signaled a waiter, "what are you having?"

He frowned, unlike most of his kind he hated having too much of a selection to choose from on his menu, he could never decide. In the end he opted for the duck in red wine jus and it went well with the wine he was drinking. He decided that Lucius would be proud; Snape finally knew what wine went with what food.

She decided against asking him about London and the Museum. She had been there herself already and she felt little more than horror and shame after viewing the Ministries catatonic prizes. The Malfoy's were Snape's friends, she couldn't imagine how it would have made him feel to collect the woman's body, maybe even see Lucius Malfoy. She shuddered at her own recollection of that experience.

Instead she subjected him to twenty minutes of complaining about Dumbledore, something she knew would soften him up for the big question she was almost bursting to ask.

"So," Minerva smiled cheerfully, "what about my party then?"

Snape could have banged his head on the table, as he should have known that this was coming. There had been hardly a moment in the last two months when she hadn't made some hint about it. "Your party?"

"Come on Severus," He voice had taken on a peculiar whining quality that he now recognized as her 'do this and he will say yes to shut me up' voice. "It has been years since anyone had a party and we should be celebrating, the war is over, we won, we can at least see in the new year with some cheer!"

"I agree," he said, sipping his wine and appreciating the flavor, "but why in my house?"

"You know why. It's big, it has a ballroom and it isn't Hogwarts."

"You must know other people with ballrooms."

"Not like yours!" Minerva had first set eyes on the Fenn after a battle at Malfoy Manor that had all but demolished the left wing of the Manor house and resulted in Narcissa's capture. He had allowed the Order to use the Fenn as a makeshift hospital and while the ballroom was full of bodies and invalids, Minerva had been walking around staring up at the ceiling and imagining party lights.

"No one would come," he grumbled, "I have hardly made it the practice of my life to go about garnering friends."

"It's _my_ party," she insisted, "people would come for me."

"To _my_ house."

"I will repair anything that's damaged."

He raised an eyebrow, "damage?"

"There won't be any," she said quickly and laughed, "please, come on Severus, it will be fun, I promise."

"Alright," he sighed quietly. He was going to give in anyway, there was no use prolonging the inevitable.

"And I swear to you," Minerva continued, oblivious to the fact he had just agreed to it, "if you let me have the party I will be forever in your debt, and I can get you a date for it too, I'll…" She stopped and stared hard at him, "did you just say yes?"

"Yes, you can have your party."

"Oh my gods, I love you." She clapped her hands together, not bothering to even attempt to conceal her joy. For a brief moment he could see what she must've been like as a girl. "You will love it, I promise."

"I seriously doubt it, you will have fun however, and that is the main point."

She fixed him with a mischievous grin, "I'll set you up with a nice girl."

Snape rolled his eyes dramatically; he should have known this was coming too. All of their conversations went this way. He had no idea who this mysterious 'girl' was that Minerva was constantly wanting to set him up with or why she had no dates of her own, but he really did not want to meet her. In eight years he had never once said yes, he was hardly going to start now.

"I don't need you to set me up with a girl," he said silkily.

"She is very nice,' Minerva smiled, "you'll like her."

"I am not interested."

"Severus!" she pouted.

"Minerva, " he mimicked her tone perfectly, then sat back from the table and folded his arms defensively across his chest. "I am capable of finding my own romantic partners."

"Since when?" She snorted with derision, "In the entire time I have known you I have never seen evidence of so much as one girl. I'm beginning to think you're not interested in them."

"I'm interested in women," he said indignantly.

"Oh really? Any 'special friends' I should know about?" She meant it sarcastically but was amazed and horrified as a blush crept across his features. Her mouth fell open in shock. "Oh my Gods," she said slowly, "you've met someone."

"I…" he tried to tame the blush, "don't be ridiculous, I…"

All conversation stopped, for a moment it seemed to Snape that the world stopped turning, if just for that brief moment, and his mouth was frozen open, mid speech. Hermione walked into the restaurant, with Viktor Krum at her heels.

~

Hermione walked into Ushers with Krum close behind and felt immediately out of her depth. Lavender had styled her hair to perfection, creating shining ringlets that trailed down her back and she had woven long slender strands of pearls through it, so that Hermione felt like a princess. Her makeup was also perfect, she didn't feel like herself at all, and she most definitely looked too good to be going out with Krum. The only thing she had adamantly refused was the loan of a pair of shoes. She reasoned that she would be walking into Hogsmeade and her regular black shoes would do well for that. Stepping into the restaurant she was grateful that the robes covered the shoes.

It was plush and elegant, the kind of place she imagined her parents would enjoy. Everyone there wore dress robes, and there was nothing casual about it at all.

Krum smiled charmingly at the young Witch who was waiting to show them to their table. He had lost a good deal of the surliness he had once had and Hermione secretly considered it a pity. On the other hand, the witch was giggling and blushing and flirting with him outrageously.

'There,' Hermione wanted to say, 'you can have anyone you want, why are you picking on me?'

The Witch beckoned for them to follow and they walked into the dining room where Hermione promptly froze.

Oh Gods Severus. She actually mouthed the words. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow. He wasn't supposed to be glaring at her with that vein throbbing in his temple like she was a first year who had melted her tenth cauldron in as many weeks.

She felt a hand on her back and Krum guided her to her chair. She knew exactly what this looked like and she really didn't want it to look like that. She wanted to go over and explain that this wasn't a date. It was a friendly dinner. Instead she sat down and questioned her motives. If this wasn't a date then what was it? She had new robes, was wearing makeup and she had bothered to get her hair done. It felt exactly like a date. Except she didn't want a date with Viktor Krum, she would have given anything to have swapped places with Professor McGonagall at that moment.

Speaking of which, why was he here with Professor McGonagall?

She felt the vein in her own forehead start to throb.

~

"So, who is she?"

"Who is who?" Snape downed a glass of wine with one gulp and poured himself another glass. He was wondering where his dinner was and all he wanted to do was get out of there as fast as he could. Except he knew that as long as Hermione was sitting at the other table, he knew wasn't going anywhere.

"The girl you've met, what's her name."

"None of your business." He drank another glass and poured more for himself. Noticing that there was very little left, he signaled the waiter to bring another bottle.

Minerva was taken aback. His mood had taken such a sudden turn for the worse that even she had a problem accepting it. "Is there something wrong?" she asked carefully.

"No." He cast a sidelong look at Hermione and scowled.

Minerva followed the line of his gaze, "You don't approve?"

"I really don't care." He finished the last of the wine and was interrupted by the arrival of his dinner. He looked around, trying to track the waiter bringing the fresh bottle of wine. Honestly, this eating like a Muggle business was too much to be borne. If he wanted to dine like a Muggle he could go to any one of the countless eateries that populated the country.

He knew his annoyance was entirely irrational. This was what he wanted, what he had hoped for. Yes, Krum was a teacher at Hogwarts, but he was of a similar age to Hermione and a far more suitable companion than Snape would be. She deserved someone like Krum. He had to be far more amiable than Snape, of that he was certain. He should be happy. The fascination she'd had for him was remarkably short lived and now he could go back to the quiet solitude and order of his life.

But he wasn't happy. The sick feeling rolling around in the pit of his gut twisted once more and he felt the rising heat of anger surging up his throat. He had been gone less than four days and already she was out giggling and flirting with that washed up Bulgarian Seeker!

"So, are things serious with this girl?"

He snapped back to the conversation. "No," he said, "we had nothing in common."

"Had? So it's over?"

His gaze strayed back to Hermione. Over? It had never really begun! "Yes, I think so," he said absently.

"Why?" Minerva persisted.

Not taking his eye from Hermione, who had sipped a glass of wine and was staring fixedly at Krum, he replied, "I think she likes someone else."

Minerva frowned and followed his gaze again – back to Hermione Granger. She blinked and looked back at Severus and back to Granger again. The girl shifted in her seat, she looked nervous and Minerva watched as the girl cast a sidelong look at Severus, caught his eye, blushed and went back to her own conversation. Severus looked even more sour.

Minerva choked back some saliva. Oh dear.

It was impossible of course. Severus and the Granger girl. She couldn't imagine Severus Snape letting his guard down even for a moment, especially not for a girl who was twenty years his junior and a student to boot. He had seen the girl grow up, go through puberty. Hermione Granger had irritated the life out of him.

On the other hand, she could understand Hermione's fascination completely. The girl was intelligent and resourceful and in desperate need of companionship on an equal level. Whilst Harry and Ron were also intelligent, it was a different kind of smarts. They did not have the thirst for knowledge that Hermione possessed, nor could they understand it, and as for the friendship that appeared to be developing with Draco Malfoy, Minerva would have to admit that it frightened the hell out of her. Malfoy was intelligent with a thirst for knowledge, that was true, but he was also his Fathers son.

Minerva was under no illusions that Severus Snape was the perfect catch, but if Hermione had managed to break through the armor and see what was beneath the façade, even for a moment, well, Minerva had no doubt that the girl could fall for him. The only thing that didn't sit well was that Minerva considered Hermione Granger to be a bit of a romantic, and she couldn't see Severus ever being romantic at all.

Also, could Severus ever forget himself long enough to have started something with the girl? She doubted it. So perhaps she was wrong, reading the signs incorrectly.

"Are you sure she likes someone else?" Minerva knew she had to tread softly here, "I mean, did she tell you that?"

"No," he snapped and started prodding maliciously at his food. "It doesn't matter, we had nothing in common, it was simply a matter of misplaced attraction and that is all."

"But something must have happened," Minerva reasoned, "you are not the kind of man who gets worked up over nothing."

"I am not worked up."

"Oh yes you are." Minerva smiled gently and once again Snape was reminded of the mother figure he'd never had. "I think you like this girl."

"That is nonsense, I barely know her."

Minerva rolled her eyes, exasperated as Snape eyed a waiter, another ex-student he noted, who scuttled over with a fresh bottle of wine and apologized profusely for the delay.

"Severus," Minerva said eventually, "how do you think couples all over the world actually get together? The fact is that very few of them know each other well when they first start out, sexual attraction often comes first."

"How very un-romantic of you Minerva," Snape retorted tartly, "I would have thought you'd be advocating the marriage of true minds."

"In a perfect world, yes, but the fact is that nine times out of ten a couple meet, have a great shag and get to know each other later."

Snape coughed a mouthful of wine into his napkin. He didn't know what was more shocking, Minerva having that sentiment or Minerva saying 'shag'.

"The point is that attraction plays a very important role in relationships. Desire has to be there or it won't work."

"Thank you Minerva, I will take that under advisement."

"Oh for goodness sakes Severus!"

He glared back at Hermione who shifted uncomfortably in her chair as though she was aware that she was being watched. Good, he thought bitterly, let her squirm, the little slut.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Minerva announced.

"Charming, don't let me keep you."

~

"If you vill excuse me Herm-own-ninny, I must use the bathroom."

Oh thank the Gods. Hermione smiled and let him go. Krum was drinking too much, they had been in the restaurant a half hour and he was already tipsy. He was also babbling on about Quidditch, a game Hermione would rather read through and thus a conversation she would rather sleep through. She really didn't care about the intricacies of Roderick Plumpton's three and a half second capture of the Golden Snitch in 1921. He caught the damn thing in three and a half seconds, how many intricacies could there be? How could three and a half seconds equate to so much conversation on only one topic?

Once he was out of sight and she noted that Professor McGonagall had left Severus alone, she pushed herself away from the table and quickly made her way across the room to speak to the man who had been giving death stares since she had arrived.

"Severus?"

He sneered up at her, "Yes Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.

"I…I want to explain," she began to chew her lip, a habit she really had to curb because every time she did it he started to stare at her mouth and she knew it must irritate him. "This thing… with Viktor… We're just friends… It's not a date or anything."

"Miss Granger, whomever you choose to see, or not to see, is hardly any of my concern, now is it? What concerns me most is your penchant for teachers. I believe I have pointed out that they are inappropriate romantic partners considering your current position in the school, and I would hate to see Mr. Krum lose his job over a friendly meal."

Hermione stared open mouthed, "but…you don't understand…Severus…"

"And might I remind you that you are to address me as Professor Snape or Sir whilst you continue as a student of Hogwarts, Miss Granger, is that clear?"

She trembled, but straightened her back defiantly, "Yes Professor, perfectly."

"Good, now if you don't mind, I am trying to eat my dinner."

She spun on her heel and returned to her table, just in time for Krum to return and start on his 'Beauties of Bulgaria' speech that she had heard before.

~

Evil, evil, evil little minx. Waiting for one man to go to the bathroom before coming over to torment another. Krum was looking drunk and decidedly amorous. Just friends indeed. Later tonight when Krum was inside her, fucking her, making her his, she wouldn't be saying that.

The very thought of anyone else touching her caused his stomach to convulse. He felt sick. He looked over at her, her dinner had arrived and she was angrily jabbing at it in much the same way he was jabbing at his own.

"Good evening Severus. Minerva said you would be here."

Great, just what he needed, Dumbledore to come along, look into his mind and fire his arse. He scowled miserably and drew his thoughts closed; something that immediately made the old mans eyes twinkle mischievously.

"In a fine mood I see. Is Minerva trying to set you up with a nice girl again?"

"No I am not," Minerva sat down and poured herself another glass of wine, "he got himself into a bad mood and I had nothing to do with it."

Snape willed her not to bring up their previous conversation and Minerva, being no ones fool, kept quiet about it. Instead she started berating Dumbledore about not letting Potter play Quidditch this year. Gryffindor, it seemed, were waging a losing battle on the Quidditch pitch this year.

Snape downed still more wine and began force-feeding himself. He knew that the duck should taste exquisite, but at the moment nothing was going to taste good in his mouth – except perhaps Hermione Grangers tongue and judging from the way Krum just put his hand over hers, that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

'Ok Snivellus,' his rational mind began in earnest, 'we have been friends a very long time, but we shall have to part ways if you keep this up. This is exactly what you hoped for, you should be relieved.'

'He can't have her, she's mine.'

'Oh I give up.'

Snape could almost see his rational mind packing its' bags and walking out the door.

~

Hermione slid her hand out from beneath Viktor's and set her fake smile on her face. Viktor was fast going from tipsy to just plain drunk. Beneath the table his foot stroked her calf, no matter where she moved her leg. At that moment she would give a million Galleons to be back at Hogwarts, with Ron giving her hell.

Snape was looking at her again. Professor Snape. She had actually hoped he might be a little jealous, instead he appeared to have returned from London his nasty self. Obviously he had spent his time getting over any inclination he had felt towards her. She was happy that she at least looked as though she wasn't mourning the loss of him. Although she would rather drink Skelegrow before the thought of actually doing anything even remotely sexual with Krum looked appealing.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?"

Hermione grimaced. Viktor's breath smelled of sour wine and he had leered in to her. She pulled back, smiled and thanked him again for the compliment. Snape had never told her that.

But he had, that night in the store cupboard, he had told her she was beautiful, when he was bound to tell the truth. She cast a longing glance at him. Why couldn't it have been someone else? Someone who wanted her? Why couldn't it have been Krum?

She looked at Viktor and suddenly it all seemed clear. She had liked him when she was a good deal younger, and she had found him attractive. Now that she looked at him she could see the similarities of their features. Black hair, big nose, black eyes and fearsome countenances. She had taken him as a substitute. He was a second rate copy of what she had always wanted.

The sudden realization didn't make her any happier.

She began shoveling food into her mouth at top speed, deciding that she needed to get out of the restaurant and back to the castle. She hoped it wasn't going to be too hard to ditch Viktor.

~

"So Severus and I will go to the Fenn for Christmas to get the place ready for New Years Eve. You can come as soon as the feast is finished."

"So you plan to abandon me and rob me of any adult companionship for Christmas dinner?"

Minerva looked distressed despite the twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes. "It isn't as though you won't see us at all, not if you come right after."

Snape sighed and listened to Minerva's plans to transform his house into a full Wizards party room. It had been a long time since anyone had held a real Wizards Ball and it was obvious that she had counted on him saying yes because she had already planned it in great detail. She had even had invitations made up, all she had to do was send them, which she planned to do tomorrow. The only stipulation she had made was that no students would be invited. It had been so long since she'd had an evening entertainment that didn't involve Hogwarts that she had lost the last time in the failings of memory.

That was fine by Snape. He hardly wanted students knowing where his home was. Besides, the only student he would care to invite – aside from Draco – was currently flirting shamelessly with a man who taught children to ride broomsticks.

So much for her marvelous mind.

~

"How about ve get out of here?" Krum leered and Hermione was grateful he'd suggested it, although she was fully aware of what he meant.

"Good idea," she laughed nervously. She figured once they got back to the castle she could lose him there. Or she could do what she was doing now. Krum went to settle the bill and she slipped out the door and began walking as fast as she could towards Hogwarts.

~

Snape watched Krum go to pay the bill and Hermione slip out the door.

Interesting, she wasn't waiting for the washed up old has-been.

He felt more than a little dismay as desperation and the faintest glimmer of hope washed over him like a wave on a beach.

"I have to go," he said abruptly, cutting Minerva off mid sentence and throwing a few Galleons on the table, he turned and positively fled the dining room.

Dumbledore looked confused. Minerva shrugged, as if to say, who knew what was going on in the Potions Masters mind. He wasn't himself lately.

"Oh look," said Dumbledore when the awkward moment passed, "there's Viktor, he must've come down for dinner."

Minerva looked, noticed Hermione was gone and a smile crept over her features, "Yes, Albus, call him over, we really should find out how his first week has been."

~

This was ridiculous, Snape was certain he was about to make a complete idiot out of himself, and he was running – something he made a point never to do unless it was a dire emergency. Still she had a good head start on him and he had to run to catch her.

"Hermione!"

She spun on here heel and stared at him with wide eyes. Her heart lurched with apprehension, "Professor!" she squeaked, "I…"

He anchored an arm around her waist, which threw her off balance, and gasping in shock, she grabbed handfuls of his robes for support and hurled him off the path and into the forest. She stumbled and fell backwards, pulling him down with her. He swore and grappled to cushion her fall. He managed to cradle her head so it didn't hit the ground, but they both landed bodily amongst the trees and he was sprawled on top of her

Hermione was instantly aware of his body pressed against hers. Her robes had twisted around her body as she fell, revealing her legs and her panties, she instinctively moved to let him rest between her thighs and struggled to hold on to any shed of control she still possessed. "Severus…"

"Shhh," he whispered, is warm, damp mouth nuzzling her neck and he inhaled the scent of her. Oh Gods he missed her. His fingers traced the elastic band of her panties, down between her thighs and lingered there before sliding back and stroking the length of her thighs.

She whimpered, gasped and moaned, astonished at just how quickly he could elicit those gloriously wanton sounds from her.

He said nothing, but his mind was screaming out 'Mine, Mine, Mine' over and over again, releasing him from all reason. She needed to know that she was his and his alone. No one else could touch her and he would make her his. His hands caressed the gentle curve of her hips, pushing the robes up further, exposing the slender dip of her waist.

His hands found her breasts next, his palms skimming up over the small mounds and with fumbling fingers he made to undo the buttons of the robes. Hermione reached up to help him, tearing at the collar and feeling the buttons give way, not caring that she had only just purchased the damn things. He tugged gently at her bra and with more luck than skill, the front clasp gave way and her breasts, as full as they would ever be and aching for him, sprang free.

Oh Gods they are perfect.

Watching her and still driven by lust and jealousy, he licked a finger and touched it to one sensitive pink bud. Her breath caught in her throat and she almost cried out, but he smothered the sound in her throat as he covered her mouth with a kiss that was hot and wet and made her dizzy. His tongue found hers and tangled in the intimacy of it while his hands caressed her breasts and stroked her sensitive nipples. His erection strained against her groin, pressing insistently through the fabric of his robes.

She wanted him, she wanted to see him. She wanted to disrobe him and look at what was now pressed hard against her and was yet so infuriatingly hidden. She ached to pull his robes from his body, despite where they were and the risk they were running of being caught. None of that mattered now, her body was awash with desire and a wet heat was growing between her thighs where his fingers were straying again, stroking along her panties, this time slipping under the elastic and delving into the slick folds of her pubis to stroke her intimately.

His fingers were clever beings, stroking, knowing exactly what she wanted and what she liked. His thumb made lazy circles around her clit and one, then two fingers pushed deep into her, working in and out of her wetness and causing her to cry ragged sobs into his throat. She felt as though she were melting, the ache in her was growing stronger, he robbed her so completely of her reason that she wanted nothing more than to stay here in the cold damp forest forever.

She was desperate to touch his. She had never managed it before, she pulled his robes apart and slid her hands inside. Her palms connected with hot flesh and firm muscle, but she still couldn't see him. For the moment she would have to content herself with this contact and this incredible heat. His heat beat matched hers, beat for beat, racing against each other's pace. She needed him, she wanted him inside of her. It would be a simple matter of pulling his robes up, unbuttoning his pants, but anyone who happened past would see her feet in the air, the curve of her calves topped with heavy black school shoes and they would know just how intimately they were connected. If someone happened past they would think that now!

The delicious weight of him, the taste of his tongue and the slick movements of his fingers unraveled what was left of her reason. Her body convulsed and her hips bucked up as she came in waves of ecstasy. She moaned into his mouth and clung to his body until the intensity of the pleasure in her own subsided.

Snape slowly broke the kiss and rested his head on her shoulder until her breathing regained a normal pace. His own breaths were ragged and he stroked her hair, now disheveled from lying on the cold ground. He reached down and began pulling his own robes up, fully intending to remove her panties and take her right there.

She smiled at him and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. She wanted him, she wanted him to know that.

"I want you inside me," she whispered.

He needed little more incentive, his fingers tangled in her panties and he would have simply torn them off rather than have her move from her current position.

Then it ended abruptly with a loud and familiar voice calling; "Severus? Severus are you in here. I tell you Albus, he didn't come in here."

"I'm sure I saw him go into the forest," Dumbledore was saying in reply.

Snape felt the sudden urge to cry, tears actually welled in his eyes and he swore softly. This really was not fair. If he didn't have her soon he was going to explode. Hermione looked up at him and he was somehow pleased to see that she looked as frustrated and stricken as he felt. They lay silent and still for a moment, willing the intruders to go, to pass them by without noticing, but sounds of twigs breaking as someone stepped from the path into the forest propelled them to action. He replaced her bra and readjusted the top of her robes over her breasts. When he moved to stand he pulled her up with him and looked into her eyes. His own blazed with a possessive fire that frightened her and thrilled her.

He gently stroked her lower lip with his finger and felt a rush of grim satisfaction. He had seduced her on purpose, deliberately, like a possession. He had branded his name across her arse, had he been a dog he would have pissed all over her to mark his territory.

Minerva's voice called again and he frowned. He kissed Hermione quickly, possessively and thrusting his hand into his pockets he turned and disappeared into the night.

After a time Hermione heard Professor McGonagall again.

"There you are! What have you been doing, hiding in the forest?"

"Call of nature."

McGonagall laughed, "Oh Severus. Pissing in the woods."

Hermione stared in that direction for a long time, tears filled her eyes and she suddenly felt empty. He had left her there, alone in the cold of the forest. She forced herself to walk, stepping back out onto the path, tears of frustration and anger burning in her throat.

Two hands settled heavily on her hips and a distinctly male body pressed in behind her, rubbing a semi erect cock against her arse. She whirled around, convinced her had come back and prepared to forgive him anything. The she smelled the sour rush of wine and hot breath and she jerked back, horrified and staring at Krum.

"Hey, it's only me," he slurred, his fingers tightened on her waist and he drew her to him, rubbing his body against hers.

"I… I'm sorry," she laughed nervously and tried to pull away. His hold was strong and unrelenting and short of breaking his fingers, she was trapped in his grasp. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to." Desire and lust gleamed in his eye and he drew her face to his, "I vas vondering vere you disappeared to."

Panic settled in and she swallowed tightly, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. She wondered if she screamed would anyone be close enough to hear her.

"Viktor –" She sucked in a breath of air and pushed hard away from him, his hand snaked up her body and groped her breast.

"You like that?" He whispered to her, his hot breath in her ear, he had obviously mistaken her gasp to be one of pleasure, "how about ve go for a valk in the forest, there are many quiet places there that ve can be alone."

She grimaced, her stomach lurched at the thought of it. She forced herself to be calm, she had to get control of this. She removed his hands from her breasts deliberately and firmly. "Actually Viktor, I think it is time we went back to the castle."

"Good idea," he sounded enthusiastic, "My chambers are nice and quiet."

She squirmed out of his reach just as a hand squeezed one soft buttock. "Actually, I think I should go to my own chambers, Viktor, I've got a bad headache and I think I got my period, I've got really nasty cramps."

Leaving him standing there, all desire effectively doused, she walked up the hill to the castle.

~~~~~


	15. A Short Song About Love and Hate

**Chapter 9**

 **A short song about Love and Hate**

Disclaimer: See Prologue

WARNING: This chapter contains dark and violent themes. You have been warned.

 _I have taken my time posting this because I have been waiting for a grammar beta to do a check on the whole story - as yet I have been unsuccessful getting someone to finish, so whilst everything from here on has been beta'd, it is by no means perfect. I will repost when the beta's finish their job._

Harry slept fitfully, alone in his bed and unable to quell the rising cold within himself. He missed the sound of Draco's breathing, the hypnotic rise and fall of breath, the steady beating of his heart. He missed the heat with which Draco warmed his soul and kept the voices in his head at bay.

Lying in the darkness, listening to the gentle sounds of Ron's snoring, he wished it were closer, and belonging entirely to someone else. He charmed his pillow to rise and fall, to have a heartbeat, but it was no use. It wasn't Draco. There was no intimate tangle of limbs, no exquisite heat, no unique scent of spices and herbs and clean sweat.

In the end he just lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the cold light of dawn. He let the silence surround him and press against his chest until he felt himself on the edge of terror and then he let it press some more. It had been less than a week since he'd first gone to Draco's bed and already Harry felt his body so in tune with the other that he could get no rest without him.

Not that he had slept well before.

As morning came, Harry found himself going through the motions of his morning routine, despite having gone into Hogsmeade the night before, most people had made it to breakfast. By comparison, Draco, who had not ventured into the Village at all, had not come down. Harry was left to rumple his already messy hair and stare into his coffee cup as though scrying for an answer to a question he didn't know. Deep shadows ringed his eyes and he had barely bothered to shower let alone shave.

"You look like shit, you know that?"

"Thanks Ron."

"Just stating the obvious mate."

Harry had to agree, as he hadn't even brushed his teeth.

"So, Hermione got another rosebud." Ron glared down the table at Hermione, unsure as to why he was still angry with her, but still angry anyway. "Wasn't she out with Krum last night?"

"Huh?" Harry frowned and really had to think about what Ron had said before he could formulate an answer, "oh, yeah, she was."

"Looks like he's been playing sticky fingers then."

"Ron, that's fucking gross!"

Ron laughed heartily at this. "Hey buddy, your rose bush got so full the contract grew you another one, I'd think you'd be used to the idea of it by now."

Harry flushed a deep shade of red, and returned to contemplating his coffee. So Hermione had succumbed to Krum? He felt an odd sense of disappointment. Whilst he did really despise Snape, he had always considered Hermione more loyal than that. He gave her a quizzical look and after a time she cast a disparaging look at Ron, picked up her breakfast and moved defiantly to sit next to Harry.

"Well, if it isn't Hogwarts randy little sex queen," Ron drawled in a voice that smacked of bitterness.

"At least I'm getting some Ron," Hermione replied crisply. She had just finished returning a bouquet of roses to Krum via an owl. After last night's efforts, she decided it would be best to end all contact with him, even be cold and cruel if she had to. She didn't want a repeat of the 'curse in the mail' episode from two years back. She turned to Harry and shook her head, "you look shocking."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. "So, it must've been some 'friendly dinner'."

"Try, boring as all hell dinner, then the sleazy bastard tried to cop a feel on the way home."

"And succeeded by the look of it."

"Huh?"

"The Contract," Harry explained, "you got another rosebud."

"Oh." Hermione flushed and a mischievous smile spread across her face. She looked up at Severus, caught his eye, smiling and she saw his lip start to curl up before he checked himself. She grinned a little wider. "That wasn't Krum," she said quietly.

Harry looked up at Snape who glared back at him, sour expression fixed. Professor McGonagall was beside him and whilst Harry could never be certain, it did look as though she was tormenting the man with no small amount of glee.

Which was impossible, who would even attempt to torment the Potions Master?

Then again, who would think he was sexy?

Harry looked back at Hermione, once again wondering at just how bad her taste had become. Then he smiled, she was certainly full of surprises. "So between dinner and Krum groping you, when did you find time for Snape?"

"Forbidden Forest, on the way home."

Harry, who had hitherto been miserable all morning, burst into laughter. Ron, who had been so pointedly ignoring Hermione that he had heard none of their conversation, scowled at them both and shifted to give Padma his full attention.

"I take it you're still fighting with…" Hermione stopped and lowered her voice, "well, you know whom you're fighting with."

Harry frowned, retuning his gaze to his coffee. "It isn't really a fight," he said quietly, "more like a realization of just how different we are."

"And you didn't know that before?" Hermione snorted, "Good grief Harry, just get over it and apologize for calling is Dad a…what did you call his dad?"

"A fucking evil bastard."

"For calling his Dad a fucking evil bastard, and make up."

"But his Dad is a fucking evil bastard."

"Well we all know that, but Draco loves him so you might just have to put up with it. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? The guy is less than a vegetable now anyway. When this exhibition thing is over, Draco will put him up in the attic and he'll gather dust."

"I can't see Draco putting his Father in an attic."

"Yeah, but he'll hardly display him either!"

"True."

At the sound of wings, Hermione raised her eyes heavenwards. "Post's here."

Harry never expected post, but lately he always got it. Another letter from Tonks, and one from Lupin, as well as his usual Daily Prophet. He set the letters aside for later and unrolled the Prophet, looking about the room in case Draco had decided to join them late.

Ron was laughing. It was a high malicious laugh and he nudged Harry excitedly.

"Did you see it Harry? Gods I wish Malfoy was here, I'd love to see the look on the wankers face!"

Huh? Harry frowned again. Ron was laughing hysterically now and Harry turned to Hermione and shrugged. Hermione didn't return his shrug. She was staring at the front page of Harry's Daily Prophet, her mouth open in shock. Harry looked at the paper. It took a few moments for it to really register what it was looking at.

The cover story heralded the opening of the Dark Magic and Death Eater Exhibition in London and came complete with a large, full color photograph of Lucius Malfoy.

Fucking evil bastard indeed.

Except Harry couldn't think that now. Harry hadn't seen him since the last battle. Harry had no idea what the kiss would do. Confronted with the results, Harry felt his stomach plummet. Malfoy was slumped in his case, so still that it could have been a Muggle photograph. Harry knew it wasn't. Shadows on the glass case moved. Only Malfoy was still.

Despite the long white shift that covered him, Lucius Malfoy was obviously painfully thin. His flesh was the color of chalk and he was cowering in the case. Cowering was the only word for it, as though he was aware of the world and was frightened by it. His face belied an utter helplessness; he was at the mercy of his captors. This was where their world had always wanted him to be and now that he was there, Harry recognized the full horror of it.

"That's-" Hermione could barely speak. "That's ghoulish."

"It's fucking hilarious, that's what it is!" Ron was sounding jubilant, as though he had won the war all over again.

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him, "it's awful. It's totally barbaric."

"Oh come on, he fucking deserves everything that is coming to him. I can barely wait to find Ferret, I'm gonna hold the little fuck down and rub his face in it."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!" Harry stood up so suddenly that his coffee cup fell to the floor and smashed there. "Don't you go anywhere near him! What the fuck is wrong with you Ron? When did you turn into this vindictive piece of shit?"

"Vindictive piece of shit?" Ron was standing too now, his fist balled around the handle of his wand. He was reluctant to draw it out. This was his friend – it was also Harry Potter, and who in their right mind was going to draw a wand on Harry Potter? "This is Malfoy we're talking about!" Ron was almost pleading with him now, "It's not as though it is someone who matters. When did you join the Draco Fucking Malfoy fan club?"

Harry didn't respond, he just glared at his so-called friend and suddenly hated him with every fiber of his being.

"Draco isn't his father," Hermione said, "why are you so determined to hurt him with this?"

"Because it's fucking Malfoy!" Ron cried exasperated, "It's a perfect opportunity, he's an arsehole who would do the same to you in a second and besides, it's fucking funny."

"Yeah," Harry spat, "think of how you would roar with laughter if it happened to you."

"Well it's hardly going to happen to me now is it?" Ron replied venomously, "my Father isn't a fucking psychopath."

"No, your father isn't."

"What's that supposed to mean."

"Oh go to hell." Harry turned on his heel and walked away. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have time to deal with Ron and his twisted sense of justice. He just had to get out of the Great Hall and back to the southwest tower and Draco, all the while hoping against hope that Draco hadn't received his copy of the Daily Prophet.

************************

"So, what were you doing in the forest last night?"

Snape coughed his morning coffee into his hand and stared wide eyed at Minerva. "Just what you said," he replied in a voice that belayed more calm than he felt, "'pissing in the woods'."

"Really? For 20 minutes?" Minerva smiled, "you have no idea how hard it was to stall Mr. Krum at that restaurant, you should be thanking me."

Snape felt a strange nervous laugh rise in his throat and escape all high pitched and strangled, "why…why would you have to stall Krum?"

Minerva looked pointedly at Hermione who was spreading jam onto a muffin and looking a little flushed. "She is very young Severus," Minerva said slowly.

"Too young," Snape replied absently, then shook his head, coming to his senses, "I don't know what you mean." He didn't sound convincing, in fact he could hear a tone of desperation creeping into his voice and that couldn't be good. He fixed his face and returned to his usual scowl. It was the best way to face his morning, particularly when Minerva was so obviously on to something.

"I don't know why you are in such a dreadful mood," Minerva poured herself some tea. "You didn't get caught and you know she didn't go home with Mr. Krum, you should be happy."

Snape pointedly did not answer. He was not going to justify Minerva with a response and in truth he was mortified that she had managed to hit the nail so precisely on the head. Minerva would love nothing more right now than to go and sequester them both in her chambers all day while he gave her a blow by blow account of the whole sordid affair. Snape, of course, would rather amputate a limb than do any such thing.

So he let Minerva have her fun while he managed to glance at Hermione. She caught his eye and smiled and he almost smiled back. But he caught himself in time. Nothing like grinning like an idiot to show the whole world who he wanted more than life.

How had this happened?

Snape was maliciously amused to see that Krum looked both hung-over and miserable. His surly gaze surveyed the room, settling on Hermione and his scowl deepened.

Yeah, keep looking you Bulgarian fucker, you're not having her.

She's mine.

He had to stop thinking that way.

He had gone back to the forest to find her last night, been there in the shadows to witness her rejection of Krum (he had been about to hex the bastard for touching her, but she had removed him from her person adequately) and followed them home to make sure she was safe. He had wanted nothing more than to drag her down to the dungeons, and he had no doubt she would have gone willingly.

But he really had to stop thinking that way.

He had even contemplated that Minerva could be right. Give in to the attraction and the compatibility will come later. After a few hours of allowing himself to believe it, he gave up such a premise as ridiculous. Hermione was a student and she was so very young. She would hardly attach herself to an old man (not that he was particularly old, in Wizarding years he was only just starting out) for the rest of her life. Snape wasn't interested in being the first in a long line of lovers. If he was going to subject himself to a relationship and all of the feelings and emotions that went along with it, he wanted to be certain that it was for a reason. Not being the kind of man who allowed anyone to gain an insight into his psyche, he was hardly going to open himself to an eighteen year old girl simply because his brain had suddenly taken up residence in his cock.

Now it was clear that Minerva knew and if Minerva knew, then it wouldn't stay secret from Albus for very long. Once Albus knew…

Snape really didn't want to think about that. Albus Dumbledore could forgive many things, but one of his teachers taking advantage of one of his students was probably not one of them. How many times had Snape had to sit through Dumbledore's. "Guide them, mould then, protect them," speech? He highly doubted that "Shag them" would ever be tagged on the end of it.

It was going to have to stop. He was going to have to learn how to control himself - and fast.

His thoughts were distracted for a moment as the owls started descending from the rafters and a copy of the Daily Prophet dropped into Minerva's lap.

"Why do you read that trash?" Snape growled, grateful for the distraction.

"Because it's the only newspaper we have."

He snorted into his coffee as he drained the cup. He always figured that where the Daily Prophet was concerned, the word 'news' should be used lightly.

"Severus!" Minerva gasped his name, alarmed.

He frowned, "what?"

She shoved the newspaper in front of him and all thoughts of Hermione deserted him. "Shit," he muttered, "I have to find Draco."

Minerva nodded dumbly and Snape hurried from the table, vaguely aware that somewhere in the Great Hall, Potter had started yelling.

Draco was yelling at someone when Harry reached his door. He could hear him, screeching in a voice that Harry could barely recognize as that of his lover's.

"It's your fault, you did this, you gave him to them!"

The other voice, older, calmer, but still obviously distraught replied; "I was doing what I had to. The aim of everything was to stay alive, he knew that."

"But you gave him to them! You could have hidden him, but you gave him to them!"

"Draco, try and calm down, this isn't helping anything. You'll make yourself sick."

 _"I WANT TO BE SICK! I CAN BE FUCKING SICK IF I WANT TO BE. YOU DID THIS, WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST KILL HIM, WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO HIM?"_

"It was war Draco, I did what I had to do."

Draco was silent then. If he had spoken, Harry couldn't hear what Draco had said. It seemed fairly obvious that Draco had indeed seen the Daily Prophet's front page. Harry turned and went back to the common room, to wait out whoever was in the room with him.

After half an hour or so, Snape emerged from the corridor looking pale and distressed. He glared at Harry and swept out the door.

Harry stared at the corridor. What if Draco didn't want to see him? What if he was the last person Draco wanted to see? He pushed himself forward into the corridor, dismissing his fear. The worst that could happen would be that Draco told him to piss off and he would be in the same place he was now. He knocked on the door and waited.

It opened a crack and a red-rimmed gray eye stared out at him.

"Hi," Harry said, and wished he didn't sound so nervous.

"What do you want?" Draco sounded hoarse, as though he had been yelling and crying at once, which he possibly had.

"Are you alright?"

"No."

"Can I come in?"

The door opened a little wider and Draco stepped aside to let him in. Harry edged past him and when Draco wandered into the centre of the room as though lost, Harry closed the door and warded it for him.

"You look like shit." Draco sniffled.

Harry smiled gently, "I know. I couldn't sleep last night."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Draco looked at the floor. "Did you see the paper?"

"Yeah, yeah I did."

Draco's lip started to tremble. He couldn't speak, tears seemed to suddenly burst from his eyes and his breath came in great shuddering gulps of air. Harry pulled him to the bed and crushed him to him tightly, rocking his body gently, burying his face in Draco's pale hair.

Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I can't do this," he whispered through shuddering breaths "I – I can't. I – I want to go home."

"I'll take you home," Harry breathed into Draco's hair, "I'll take you away from here."

Harry pulled Draco's head into the hollow of his shoulder and brushed his lips through the silken texture of Draco's hair. He felt the reflective plains of Draco's body lock into his own and it was as though their very souls met and fused, as real and as tangible as some physical force.

Is this what falling in love was like? This incredible melding of selves, this sharing of pain, this connection?

Draco gave in to crying, his body heaved and shook against Harry and he cried as a child cries, with abandon and without hope. Harry held him and rocked gently back and forth, listening to the harsh cries that seemed to originate somewhere in Draco's belly and finished in harsh coughing gasps.

"I – I miss him."

"I know." Harry pressed his lips against the top of Draco's forehead.

"I hate him."

"No you don't," Harry murmured, not moving his lips from Draco's head, "you love him."

"I…" Draco looked up at Harry, his face was wet, as though he had dunked his face in water, but Harry knew that the water on Draco's face would have the salty taste of tears. "I do – I do love him, he…" Draco drew a shuddered breath.

"I know, Draco, I know you do baby."

"He…" Draco squeezed his eyes shut. Harry would never understand, Harry would never want to understand. Draco made himself content to curl into Harry's arms and take comfort from the body wrapped around him. He needed Harry, he needed the warmth, and he wanted to taste him, to feel him there. Draco needed to feel loved.

"Kiss me," Draco said quietly and looked into Harry's green eyes.

Without speaking Harry cupped Draco's face in his hands and began kissing his brow with soft silent kisses, His tongue darted into the salty corners of Draco's eyes, licking away tears. He ran his tongue over Draco's pale cheek and slipped it between Draco's lips and into the wet heat of his mouth. Draco pressed gratefully against Harry's body and Harry felt himself wanting him, growing aroused against Draco's hip.

Guilt rushed through him. Draco needed comfort; he didn't need Harry to start aching to be touched. But Draco was pushing him back onto the bed, taking his comfort in Harry's arousal, pulling the sweatshirt over Harry's head, unbuttoning Harry's jeans and pulling them down, leaving Harry naked on the bed.

"Take your robe off," Harry whispered, "I want to see you."

Draco averted his gaze. His face was red from crying and he looked so incredibly unsure that Harry felt his heart swell with what he knew could only be love. Gently Harry reached up and began slipping the robes from Draco's slender form, running his fingers lightly over the uneven flesh of his scarred back, staring into eyes that burned with such intensity that Harry was sure they could see into his soul.

"You are so beautiful –" Harry stopped, suddenly unsure of what else he could say. If he continued he would tell Draco he loved him, and he wasn't ready for that yet, he doubted that Draco was either.

Draco pushed him back into the pillows and sat back to stare at him, "I want to own you" he whispered.

"You already do."

Draco turned away and reached to the bedside table. Rifling through the draws he found a small bottle of oil and he rubbed a little over his hands. He then began to work Harry expertly, stroking a squeezing and building up a rhythm so exquisite that Harry was certain he would spend his seed right there in Draco's slick palms.

He would have been happy with that. He would have been grateful for it. But Draco lowered his face and began kissing and licking the length of Harry's body, tracing a wet glistening trail of spit over Harry's belly and then taking Harry's cock deep into his throat.

Harry moaned and gasped. Draco's fingers began gently tickling his balls and then stroked lower, probing gently.

Oh – Oh dear Gods what's he doing?

Harry felt fingers at his entrance, lightly circling his anus and then gently pressing, pushing into him.

Harry gasped harshly, squeezing his eyes shut, he could hear his own labored breathing, gasping, whimpering. Draco's mouth continued working over Harry's cock and his finger pushed a little deeper into Harry's body, waiting patiently for the ring of muscle to relax and allow him a deeper entry.

Harry panted. It hurt. It was good. It was too good. Someone sticking their finger into your arse shouldn't feel this good. Draco pushed his finger a little deeper into Harry and gently, with a movement Harry couldn't quiet discern, he began to stroke.

Harry's eyes shot open and his hips bucked up into Draco's mouth. "Oh fuck, Draco, What – what is that?"

Draco laughed, his mouth still wrapped around Harry's cock. He pulled away for a moment. Without breaking the stroking momentum he asked; "Do you like it?"

"Y-y-yes."

"It's your prostate."

Harry cried out again and Draco smiled, relishing the reactions of his lover's body. He loved the way that Harry gave in with such abandon to lovemaking. How when he was naked and being pleasured he felt no shame at all, he would moan and cry out and writhe and come with such joy that Draco could not help but grin like a fool when he watched him. For Harry it was as though every stroke and caress, every kiss was a new experience. In passion, he held nothing back. Harry was grabbing fistfuls of the sheet beneath him, his body so close to orgasm that it felt as though his balls would explode.

Draco gently returned to sucking Harry deep into his throat, moving his mouth over the hard shaft, his fingers probing deeper still, stroking over Harry's prostate and delving deeper again. Harry had told him of the contract. He knew what would have to come eventually. It would not be tonight, but it would have to be done eventually. It was best to get Harry's body used to such attentions and the heat inside Harry's body was so incredible, he was so incredibly tight.

Draco was sprawled between Harry's legs and Harry could feel Draco's aroused penis pressing insistently into his thigh. He moved his leg against it, desperately reaching for it with his hands but unable to do little more than stroke Draco's back and hair.

"I…I want to suck you too…" Harry panted and swallowed, "How can…"

Draco didn't break his rhythm, not for so much as a moment. He shifted his body, moving legs and limbs and the graceful length of his body so that His hips were in front of Harry's face, his cock brushing against Harry's soft mouth.

Harry understood the advantages immediately, he tilted his head back, taking Draco into his mouth, pulling Draco's weight down onto him so that the flat plains of their bodies were interlocked. His throat felt stretched wide open and he felt satisfied as Draco's cock slipped deeper into his gullet.

It seemed as though they could do this forever, basking in the glory of each other's bodies until they were bound together in a moist web of spit and sweat and semen.

When finally they were spent they nestled together, kissing with lips swollen from giving each other pleasure. Draco curled into Harry's body, drawing the warmth to him and inhaling the smell of sweat and lavender soap.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked after a time.

"Yeah, I just want you to hold me." Draco stroked Harry's chest, pressing a kiss into his collarbone.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"We can sleep the afternoon away."

"I'd like that." Harry yawned. "I didn't sleep last night. I can't sleep without you."

"Why?"

Harry smiled a sad smile at the ceiling. "The dark. The silence. Sometimes at night the darkness and silence weighs on me."

"Scared of the dark Harry?" Draco chided gently.

"No." Harry said quietly, "Peace frightens me. Perhaps I fear that most of all. I feel it is only a facade hiding the face of hell. I think, 'What is in store for my children tomorrow?' 'The world will be wonderful', they say. But from whose viewpoint? To experience true peace we need to live in a state of suspended animation like a work of art, in a state of enchantment, detached...detached."

"Perhaps we have to succeed in loving so greatly that we live outside of time," Draco smiled and crawling up kissed Harry gently on the mouth.

Harry smiled in return, reached a hand up and stroked Draco's face. "Do you think we will ever get past all of our…differences?"

"I don't know," Draco sighed and then smiled a small, sad smile, "we're ok now aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Then perhaps we should just take it as it comes."

"Perhaps."

They slept, wrapped in each other's slender limbs, while life in the castle moved on. Their dreams were set to the slow rhythm of each other's breathing, as light and as heavy as the rain that fell against the windows and the castle walls.

****************************************


	16. A Short Song About Love and Hate Part 2

**Chapter 9 - Part 2**

Snape had half expected Hermione to find her way to him at some point during the day. He had spent most of his morning preparing himself mentally for the confrontation, knowing that his own foolish behavior had pushed this further than it ever needed to go and now he needed to sever the bind entirely. When she knocked on his door late in the afternoon, he was not surprised and he fixed his face in a look of smug superiority before opening the door.

Only to be confronted with one angry would-be lover who pushed past him on her way through the door with a growled; "We need to talk."

He had been dreading the inevitable 'talk'. She was going to ask the obligatory "where is this going" question. He could see it sitting in her mind with such crystal clarity that he was almost tempted to answer it without her voicing the words at all. He would then be forced to tell her that it was going no where and that it had to stop, right now, no more fun to be had.

She would hate him, and then that would be that.

Although judging from the look on her face she was already two-thirds of the way to hating him already. He closed the door, warded it and as an after thought, threw out a silencing charm. He then turned to the ball of fury that had walked into the centre of his chambers and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Problems, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor, I have a problem. He's about six foot three and a great greasy fucking bastard and, surprise surprise, he's standing right where you are!"

He spread his hands in mock surprise, "you couldn't be talking about me?" he asked silkily.

"You left me there! You prick. You left me in the Forbidden Forest alone and I had to fend Krum off when he fucking groped me!"

Snape grimaced, "that is regrettable" he said, forcing himself to remain calm.

"Regrettable? How very nice of you to say!" She scowled, doing a very good imitation of him in the process. She looked about the room, noticing all the books and forgot her wrath for a moment. "What are you reading?" she asked grumpily.

"Nothing that concerns you."

She walked over to a pile on the floor and picked up a book from the top. She frowned, 'A guide to the Celestial Wars.' The book under it was titled simply, 'Ravenhorns Angelology'. Looking around she began to notice a bit of a trend. Seems the Potions Master was really in to Angels.

Snape shuffled self-consciously on the spot. His chambers, normally so sparse, were positively cluttered with books. He had brought every book on Angels that he'd owned from the Fenn. Adding to the clutter was almost half of Hogwarts Restricted Section, all of which left little room for people. So far he had managed to learn a great deal about Angels, but very little about what he needed. There were several incantations to draw down Angels, although none he could find to call the Metatron and the potion Lucius had written down had not appeared in anything he had read so far.

He had begun to suspect something more sinister at work. While Snape knew that Lucius Malfoy was not entirely the child-killing, corpse mutilating demon that most of the Wizarding World thought him to be, he was also not blinded by prejudice. Lucius Malfoy had leagues to go before he would even hit the boundaries of being a good man. Whilst he was generous to a fault with those he called his friends, he could turn on them in the blink of an eye. Snape could hazard a guess and say that the only person Lucius ever loved blindly and completely was his son. To Lucius, Draco was the reason the earth turned, everything else was incidental to that point. While loving ones son was an admirable trait, it did not make him a better person. Lucius had spent his entire life playing some power game or other. From the moment he hexed his first House Elf to the moment he was kissed by the Dementor, Lucius was playing the game, craving more power, obtaining it at any cost. He bribed, cheated, cajoled, lied, threatened, hexed and stole. Snape had seen Lucius kill people without breaking stride and if he'd had his way; Muggles would have been eradicated in much the same way as one would rid a house of rats.

So why, Snape could only ask himself again, would an Angel willingly hand over his feathers to save the soul of such a man? He had resolved to start looking into books of Demons.

"Are you researching something?" Hermione asked, her mood lightening but not lifting altogether.

"No, it is just a passing interest." It didn't sound convincing to his ears, but he hoped she would accept it.

Hermione moved a pile of books from a chair and sat herself down, folding her arms across her chest, she glared at him expectantly. When he said nothing she sighed; "Well aren't you going to offer me some refreshments?"

Snape rolled his eyes, offering tea and cake was, in his opinion, a complete waste of time. He usually bid his visitors say their piece and leave. "So we are going to be civilized then?"

"Yes," she replied, "I see no reason not to be."

"Oh, I am sorry, I read the 'six foot three, great greasy fucking bastard' comment all wrong then."

Hermione scowled again, it didn't look as though he was about to offer her anything to drink. "Are you going to offer me a beverage or not?"

"Tea or wine?"

"Which is the least work for the House Elves?"

Oh yes, she was a crusader for House Elf rights, or some ridiculous thing like that. "Wine," he said absently and then regretted it. He really shouldn't drink anything with even the slightest hint of alcohol in it when she was involved.

"I'll have wine then."

Tell her you have no wine. Tell her she has to have tea. Tell her you have no…"Red or white?"

"Red."

He pulled a bottle out of the sideboard and poured two glasses. One each. That was all. One glass of wine can do nothing at all. Nothing...at all. He settled into the chair opposite her and stared at her questioningly.

Hermione returned the stare, but soon decided she would never win that battle. She drew her wand and set a fire in the cold grate. Snape rolled his eyes.

"I saw that," she said sharply, "just because you can't feel the cold doesn't mean other people can't either. It is freezing in here."

He suppressed the smirk that was forming on his lips. Very few women would ever dare to speak to him with such familiarity and on a certain level he enjoyed the fact that she honestly assumed she could take such liberties with the way she addressed him. As though they had known each other for an eternity.

"So," she prompted, taking a sip of her wine, "how have you been?"

"Why don't you get to the point of your visit Miss Granger, and put us both out of our misery?"

Hermione drew a deep breath. "Alright then." She frowned, chewing her lip for a moment, "what is happening…with us I mean?"

And there it was, hanging in the air between them and he was going to have to answer her. It was not as though he could simply put her off and tell her she was imagining things. It was a legitimate question and she deserved an answer. He figured he had two tact's that he could take. He could be a cold hearted prick about it and tell her she meant nothing to him; that he was just out to have sex, or he could be honest, or at least reasonably honest with her. Seeing that in the last conversation they'd had about 'them' he had elected to use option one and they'd ended up with their mouths stuck together, he decided to perhaps use honesty instead.

"I will not sport with your intelligence by rehashing our last conversation on this topic," he said, "therefore I must confess that I really do not know what is going on between the two of us. It would appear that we have both come to the conclusion that we find each other attractive. Beyond that I cannot tell."

"Alright," she nodded, "so we find each other attractive. Now what?"

"Now nothing," he said crisply, "we have to stop this, pure and simple. It is inappropriate behavior for a student and a teacher."

"I thought you weren't going to sport with my intelligence by re-hashing our last conversation?"

"I…" he scowled, admiring her ability to turn his words back on him with such remarkable ease. The little bitch.

Hermione smiled and pushed herself up from her chair and went to him. Gingerly she sat on his lap and he felt his hands automatically caress her hips, pulling her down hard onto him.

"Would you call this appropriate behavior, Professor?" She asked innocently.

"N-no, it's not." Merlin, was that his voice sounding so high and strangled?

She dipped her finger into her wine and traced the line of his lips with it before allowing it to seek passage into his mouth for him to lick the wine away.

Ohhhh, dear Gods she had to stop doing that.

"What about this? Is this appropriate Sir?"

He shook his head, her finger still in his mouth.

She laughed softly, then took his hand and dipped his finger into her wine and slowly, lusciously, she sucked the wine from his finger.

Snapes mouth ran dry and his cock jumped to attention. She had to stop doing that. She had to because…because the bed was right there and it would take about five steps for him to carry her to it.

Hermione finished sucking every trace of wine from his finger and raised an eyebrow, grinding her groin against his erection. "I think you must have thought that appropriate, Sir."

"N-no," he squeaked.

She covered his mouth with hers, relishing this sudden power over him and he responded immediately, as though an electric current had passed between them. His lips parted and his tongue slid into her mouth, running along her perfect white teeth before seeking out her own tongue. He was still at a loss as to how someone could possibly taste as good as she did. His arms snaked around her, grasping her and pulling her tight against him. He felt her hands plunge into his hair, he body electric beneath his wandering palms and he moved her body, helping her pull her leg around him so that she straddled him. His fingers gently squeezed her buttocks and he strained up against her, rubbing his cock against her groin. They were wearing far too many clothes for this. She was so hot, he couldn't escape, even if he wanted to. Which he didn't. He just wanted to pick her up and walk those five steps to the bed. Yes, that was a great idea.

But he had to stop it. He had to right now because something was about to happen, he could feel it, like a premonition, something was about to…

"Severus?"

He stood up so fast that she fell to the ground with a yelp and he turned to the fireplace by the bed, not the one in front of them (thankthegodsthankthegodsthankthegods) where Dumbledore's head was currently floating. He stepped over her and swept to obscure Dumbledore's view of the room.

"We're you working?"

"No, Albus. Catching up on some reading."

Hermione sat up, rubbing her butt and pushed herself behind a chair and further out of sight.

"Then I will get to the point. When you were in London, did Lucius Malfoy look…" Dumbledore frown, searching for a word, "did he look well?"

"He looked fine. A little shell shocked perhaps."

"And you met Archibald Semeuse?"

"The Curator? Yes, why?"

"How did the Curator seem?"

Snape frowned, "Perhaps you should tell me what is on your mind Albus?"

Dumbledore chuckled, "I am sure it is nothing. Minerva met him yesterday and she said he un-nerved her. I was speaking to Remus today and he said something similar. Minerva says he hovers over Mr. Malfoy's case. I am trying to remember exactly where I have heard his name mentioned before and I cannot place it. I thought you could shed some light on his actions while you were there."

"He," Snape stared at Dumbledore, conscious of the fact that Hermione was somewhere in the room, although a discussion about Archibald Semeuse had certainly doused his lust. "He offered to purchase Lucius, he asked me to speak to Draco regarding a possible sale."

"And have you?"

"Of course not. The boy is traumatized enough as it is."

"I will try and find out what I can about the man. In the meantime, the Ministry has contacted me, to let me know that they've finished at Malfoy Manor."

"Did they find anything?"

"No, Severus, they did not." Upon seeing Snape smirk Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "you believe they missed things."

"Anything is possible Albus," Snape replied lightly, smirk still in place. Dumbledore knew as well as he did that the Ministry wouldn't find anything Lucius Malfoy didn't want them to find.

"If you could pass on to Draco that his home is available to him again, I would be grateful."

"Of course, I…"

"And Severus, about your little guest who is currently behind the chair in front of the fire. I will only warn you once, tread carefully."

Snape paled and felt his head swim, "yes Albus." His words were barely above a whisper. The fire died down and Dumbledore was gone. He turned to face Hermione who was standing by the fire looking as shaken as he did.

"It's over," he said simply, "you need to go."

"But Severus…"

"No buts, go."

"He didn't say don't do it!"

"He may as well have." He strode towards her, "you need to go."

"Look, he won't come back now, not so soon anyway," She tried to smile, perhaps if she was more direct, more like Ron maybe, "Look, why don't we just get into bed and get this over with right now?"

"WHAT?!"

Well so much for that tact, no wonder Ron was doing so badly with this. "I…I mean…I"

"Have you ever been with a man before?"

Hermione blushed, "well no…"

"I really don't believe that it is something you just get into bed and get over with." He grimaced, "in fact I would say that it points out the fundamental differences between us."

"And that is?" She folded her arms defensively.

"I would never suggest we just we climb into bed and get it over and done with. Especially not your first encounter."

Hermione's mouth fell open, "What? So now you're more romantic than me? Mr. Roll around in the forest and then piss off into the night?"

"I WENT BACK TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE ALRIGHT!"

"SO YOU SAW WHAT KRUM DID? WHY DIDN'T YOU DO SOMETHING?"

"YOU SEEMED TO BE ABLE TO HANDLE IT YOURSELF!"

"I love you," she said suddenly and bit her lip.

He stared at her for what seemed an eternity before turning away. "You don't know what love is. You're just a child, feeling. You're feeling all of these sensations that will leave you soon enough"

"You dare to presume that you know more about what I do and don't know about myself? I know my head and I know my heart. I know what I want and what I need. I know myself. Love isn't just a sensation, I know that sometimes it gets rough, but that doesn't mean we can't even try it."

He folded his arms and paced the floor, "you may know yourself, Hermione, but you don't know me, and I don't know you. Having such feelings for each other is impossible given such a lack of knowledge."

"Deny that you feel something," she challenged and when he stayed silent she grinned triumphantly. "I will tell Dumbledore that it was me, that I seduced you."

"Don't," he said quietly.

"So that's it then? I tried to reach you but you closed you mind and decided no? This can't be it. This can't be the end. You haven't even given it a chance to begin!"

He glared at her. The girl was obviously disturbed. That could be the only reason why she would be prepared to argue with him over this. She'd heard Dumbledore and she was still arguing. He smiled thinly. "Regardless, it has to end, we can have no more contact with each other aside from that of a student and a teacher."

"How are we to get to know each other if we are not to talk?"

"What makes you think I want to get to know you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione swallowed, she forced herself to breath calmly, "because of that night in detention when we talked. Because of the way it feels when you touch me. I think you want to be loved, I think somewhere inside you want to love and be loved in return."

"Someone should have told you, Miss Granger, to never attribute emotions that are your own to other people."

Hermione's mind reeled, there had to be a way she could salvage this. An idea sparked and curled and grew. She had to make it a challenge, she always worked better if she had a goal to reach for, and it was the way she functioned best. Treat him like a particularly difficult assignment. Her deadline should be…Christmas Eve.

"Letters," she said at last.

"What?"

"I will keep my distance, but let me write you letters."

He closed his eyes, he didn't want to fight with her; he wanted to fuck her. What harm could come of letters? If he said no she would only argue further. "Very well then, you may write me letters."

"And you must reply to them."

"I don't..." He stopped, why couldn't he give in, just a little? "if you so desire it."

"I do." She smiled, turning away from him and heading for the door. "Good bye Professor."

"Miss Granger?"

She turned.

Not really knowing what possessed him to say it, Snape glared at her, "no more dates with Viktor Krum."

Hermione smiled, "Of course not Severus, why would I do that?"

~

The first letter arrived the next morning. Snape found a neatly folded note, sealed with the standard Hogwarts crest and scented with Honeysuckle and Jasmine, sitting on his breakfast plate. He turned it over in long fingers, inspecting it suspiciously and when he was certain no one was watching he sniffed it.

"Love letter Severus?"

He jumped and looked at Minerva alarmed.

"Dumbledore said he caught you in what looked like a rather compromising position, but he was certain he was mistaken."

"He was?"

"Oh yes, he said that there was no way what he thought he saw could be right because when it came to the student populace the general opinion is that you are a complete turd."

Dumbledore said he was a complete turd? Snape flushed.

"Well, open the bloody letter!"

He turned his back on Minerva, hunched over his note and opened it.

"Dear Severus

Why do you think that people write love letters? Do you think it a more personal way of writing? I cannot understand it, but perhaps inhibitions are removed and true feelings can be better expressed. I am no wordsmith, so I have decided that I will let others convey what I feel to you. I will start, a poem that I feel tells you some of my mind and my fears, by return, I want one about you.

"Let us not to the marriage of true minds  
admit impediments. Love is not love  
which alters when it alteration finds,  
or bends with the remover to remove;  
Oh, no! it is an ever fixe'd mark,  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not time's fool, though rosey lips and cheeks  
within his bending sickles compass come ,  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

All my love

Hermione."

Snape chuckled softly, folded the letter and placed it in his breast pocket.

~

Hermione was disappointed when she received no letter that day and was further distressed when there was no note on her breakfast plate the following day. She really had thought that Shakespeare would do the trick and she was about to despair when an owl bringing the post dropped a letter into her hands.

The parchment was slate gray, tied with a grey ribbon and sealed with silver wax, an ornate and serpentine 'S'.

She opened it quickly, not wanting to break the perfect package, but breaking it anyway.

"Hermione

Within the furthest reaches of the heart lie those desires whose name no one dares speak. So seductive, so intoxicating, so indulgent, our most private passions burn at the molten core of our being, luring us to the very heights of ecstasy and depths of despair. Through the ages, the words of impassioned lovers have transformed a sheet of paper into a sanctuary for a restless heart. That is why people write love letters.

You wanted a poem about myself and I will give you one, although it will give you little pleasure.

I do not like my state of mind;  
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.  
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,  
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.  
I dread the dawns recurrent light;  
I hate to go to bed at night.  
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.  
I cannot take the gentlest joke.  
I find no peace in paint or type.  
My world is but a lot of tripe.  
I'm disillusioned, empty breasted.  
For what I think, I'd be arrested.  
I am not sick, I am not well.  
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.  
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;  
I do not like me anymore.  
I cavil, quarrel, gravel, grouse.  
I ponder on the narrow house.  
I shudder at the thought of men…  
I'm due to fall in love again."

Severus"

Hermione folded the letter, caught between desire and being thoroughly shell shocked. She decided against haste in her reply. She would keep to his schedule of a letter each day and she worked long into the night on a suitable reply, giving the note to the owl some time after midnight for the morning post. If this kept up, it was going to be an interesting race to Christmas.

~


	17. A Short Song About Love and Hate Part 3

**Chapter 9 - Part 3**

**********************************

It had become the nightly habit of Curator Semeuse to leave his bed after basking in the glory of his captive lover and going to his desk to work on the plans for the up-coming removal of the Exhibition to its first stop in the three month long tour of the country. He had begun to worry about the safety of his specimens. The Museum he knew well, and he knew how to keep everything within its walls safe. Outside was a different matter. Leaving his bedroom and his Angel who lay disheveled in the bed, he made his way to his office. The logistics involved in taking the Exhibition on tour were simply overwhelming and when he thought of his Angel, felt a rising panic. If anything should happen to him, Semeuse would run mad.

When the idea of the traveling exhibition was first proposed, Semeuse had contacted Messer's Shackleford and Fowles, makers of the finest Wizard Tents and Marquees in the world. The employed the same Mobius principle of expanding cubic capacity as the Museum itself, and as such could recreate the Museums environs. But it would still be a tent, and a tent had not the strength of a stone building and Semeuse had taken to pacing his chambers in terror lest any hazard befall his treasures.

He had been remarkably specific when outlining exactly what he required of the Marquee. The interior showcase room had to be exactly 639 squares and separated by a partition a third of the way into the room. Two separate rooms of five squares and fifteen squares respectively were required. The first was to act as a preparation room for the Death Eaters to be bathed, clothed and fed. The second room would be for the use of Semeuse and his Angel. There would also need to be accommodation for the House Elves, bathrooms and kitchens incorporated into the design. The most important factor, however, was that the marquee had be impenetrable.

While the other exhibits remained enclosed in their cases at night, the Angel was taken and carefully laid out in Semeuse's own bed. This practice would continue throughout the tour. Lucius had to be accessible at all times. Semeuse had contemplated removing him from display entirely; after the tour was over he decided that he probably would. Lucius could live in Semeuse's own chambers.

It was no longer a matter of hoping that the Son would sell his Father. Semeuse would soon have them both. He was making arrangements in this regard. His first order of business was to find out as much as he could about the boy to ascertain whether or not he was a suitable specimen. It would be pointless if the child was only a half blood or bore no resemblance at all to the sire. He had seen perfectly good collections spoiled in the past by artifacts that were supposedly linked but too dissimilar so as to cast doubts regarding their authenticity. If the boy was suitable, Semeuse then had to find out how best to ensnare him. Once he had managed that little feat, it was a simple matter of having the Kiss performed by one of the Dementor's. This was a relatively easy task. Semeuse had official status within the Ministry, he would simply authorize the order and have the Dementor come to him. Dementor's never questioned the authorization. They craved souls and Semeuse would have one to offer. That was all that would be required.

The dossier he had been waiting for arrived that morning, just over a week after the exhibition had opened and Semeuse had found out about the boy. The photograph was an old one, some five years old. The boy was truly a boy in the picture, only 13. His pale blonde hair slicked back and a broom stick in his hand. Even as a boy the resemblance was evident. The face was beginning to mature, the nose was gaining the strength, his jaw more solid. The boy in the picture was in the process of leaving the prettiness of childhood and was becoming the man his Father's genes dictated he would be. Oh yes, in looks he was certainly everything he was supposed to be.

The notes that came with the photograph were little more than statistics and were perfect to prove his authenticity. There was a copy of his birth certificate and a brief list of attributes, both physical and mental, which would be of interest to any collector.

Name: Draconis Antoine Malfoy, born in London, 8 April 1980. Father: Lucius Armand Malfoy, Mother: Narcissa Magdalena Malfoy – nee Black. Hair: White Blonde. Eyes: Gray. Distinguishing Features: Pale complexion, pointed features. House: Slytherin. Interests: Quidditch (was Slytherin Seeker 1992 – 1998), Flying, Dark Magic, Himself. Pets: Unknown. Partner: Unknown – though thought to have a partner, no information can be gathered. Friends: Unknown. The subject spends time with various people at school although how close he is to any of them in unknown. Broomstick: Nimbus 2001 + Firebolt. Skills: Duelist, Potions, and Transfiguration.

The report was superficial, but it was enough. Semeuse was certain that despite the existence of an unknown partner, that the boy's girlfriend would prove no threat to his plans. His friends were the unknown quantity. It depended greatly on what kind of a person the boy was. If he had been able to wipe off the taint of having his parents as Death Eaters, he could prove to be popular and thus have friends who would fight to save him. Thus snatching him in the open would be impossible. No, Semeuse would have to be far more cunning than that.

He put the dossier aside. He had to return to the problem of the marquee and the transportation issues. He couldn't afford to have any more deaths due to improper packing. He pinched the bridge of his nose, he could feel a headache coming on and the strong desire for sleep. He had never taken a collection outside of the Museum before and he was beginning to wonder if the stress involved was truly worth it. Returning to his papers he decided that moving from place to place by Muggle truck would probably be safest for all concerned.

Four weeks later, the exhibition was ready to travel.

~

Harry decided that is was a desire for self torture that found him watching the last Quidditch match before the school broke for the Christmas holidays. It was pouring with rain, and the charm used to keep the rain off the spectators was not performing its office with any real success. The wind whipped through the stands, chilling him to the bone and he wrapped his robes a little tighter around himself. Harry's warming charms were mediocre at best, and when he couldn't concentrate, they were plainly appalling

"So, I see Slytherin are kicking some Gryffindor arse, again."

Harry grinned as Draco dropped down onto the bench beside him. "I thought you said you weren't coming out in 'all this fucking rain'?"

"Well, I never could resist watching Gryffindor get an arse whipping."

Harry laughed and shivered and clutched his robes. Draco rolled his eyes. "You really are hopeless, you know that?" he cast a warming charm and watched as Harry's body uncoiled from the tight hunched position it had previously held.

"Thanks," Harry whispered.

"Not a problem." Draco traced the bone of Harry's wrist with sensitive fingers, feeling the warmth of the charm infuse the skin. "Are you still pissed off?" he asked jovially.

"I wasn't ever pissed off," Harry replied, but his body tensed anyway.

"Yes you were."

Harry, deciding to practice his ability to do Legilimency without a wand, had caught a flash of memory from Draco that morning. It served himself right, he shouldn't have been looking without asking. What he had seen had disturbed him. It wasn't any heinous crime, it was nothing that could ever be held against Draco at all, and it shouldn't have even upset Harry – except that it had.

It was an old memory, Draco making love to a girl. No, not making love. They were fucking, it was not love. Draco couldn't have been more than sixteen. He still slicked his hair back, although some of it had fallen over his face as he drove into the girl. She was a Slytherin, but Harry couldn't remember her name. She could be dead by now for all he knew. That it was the past and she was gone did nothing to alleviate the pain Harry felt at seeing it. Draco had been unscarred in the memory and it had sickened Harry that he, who loved Draco beyond measure, should get what was left in the aftermath of war while this girl, who had meant nothing, should have Draco whole and perfect. And Draco had been pounding into the girl's body. Hard and fast and with so much passion that he had yelled as he came, rammed to the hilt inside her.

Harry had seen it, too mortified to stop himself from watching it and he could only wonder how it was that Draco could ever be satisfied with him. Draco could never do that to Harry. He could never drive into him with that much force, Harry was certain of that. Even when they did finally have sex, and they agreed that they had to, Draco would never be able to do that, not without tearing Harry apart in the process.

"It won't do to dwell on it," Draco said, pulling a bag of sweets from his pocket and offering Harry one. "Actually, I should be the one pissed off at you for fucking around in my head in the first place."

Harry shrugged, he had to admit he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. "So why aren't you."

"Well," Draco grinned, "you pretty much learned your lesson, you're not very happy with what you found are you?"

Harry shrugged and looked through the bag for something he might actually like. Draco had a terrible habit of going to Honeydukes and buying all of the sweets any normal person would turn their nose up at. He actually liked getting tripe flavored Bertie Botts. In the end Harry found a liquorice whip that he was certain had only been put in there for him.

The announcer echoed across the field. Slytherin lead 210 to 90. Neither Seeker appeared to have any idea where the Snitch was, and the rain was not helping. Both teams looked exhausted and the game might well continue for hours. Even McGonagall looked as though she was about to call it a day and leave them to it. Snape looked as though he would strangle someone if the game didn't end soon.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" Draco asked, picking out a cockroach cluster and smiling at it.

"Nothing," Harry replied, "and if you want me to kiss you at any point tonight, you will not put that in your mouth."

Draco looked at the cluster with some regret and dropped it back into the bag. "I thought I might go to the Manor."

Harry looked at him, startled, "you're going away?"

"I thought you might want to come with me."

"To – To Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes," Draco laughed, "last time I checked it was the only manor I own."

Harry had seen the manor before, from the outside at least. There had been a battle of sorts there. There had been a Death Eater meeting there, the Order had gone in an attempt to catch some of the senior members of Voldemorts army. They had been hopelessly ill prepared. The only thing they had accomplished was getting twenty people killed and catching a scant few Death Eaters – one of whom happened to be Draco's mother. At the time he hadn't thought of it as Draco's home, just a place to fight in, a place where something terrible had happened and one of the many places that haunted his dreams. The idea of going back there was terrifying.

Then again, it would be two weeks with Draco. Two weeks alone with Draco. No one to disturb them, they wouldn't have to sneak around, he wouldn't have to hide under his Invisibility Cloak to go to the bathroom. He wouldn't have to go back to his own bed!

"Um, sure, if you want me to come," Harry said quietly.

"Great," Draco enthused, "I thought I'd ask Hermione as well."

"Hermione?" Well, so much for being alone.

Draco saw the look on his face and laughed, "now don't stress. I happen to know that she is planning this big seduction for Christmas Eve."

At this they both looked at Snape who was trying to telepathically tell either Seeker just where the Snitch was. He figured he could see it, so why the hell couldn't the Seekers see the damn thing?

"So she'll turn you down in favor of greasy big nosed git over there." Harry smiled.

"Yes, and please bear in mind that greasy big nose git over there is my Godfather and I am quite attached to him."

Harry shuddered, how any one could be attached to Snape was beyond him. "So she'll turn you down," he repeated.

"That's right, so all obligation is over with and we get to walk around naked for two weeks."

Harry grinned. That sounded pretty damn good to him.

*************************************

Christmas Eve dawned and most of the student populace was ready to leave right after breakfast. Hermione sat on her bed and watched as Lavender put a few extra objects on the dressing table. Lavender was packed and ready to catch the Hogwarts Express to London, while Hermione was dressed in old jeans and a pink sweat shirt.

"Ok," Lavender pointed at the dressing table, "this is my new Gilderoy Lockhart's super curl revival hair serum, remember, don't use to much of it, he said in that letter last week that he likes your wild untamable hair, so just put a little bit through your hair when it is still wet will give it a nice shiny curl. I have made you up some perfume, here, and this one is a bath oil that will make you feel and smell super sexy."

Hermione nodded, picking up the oil and sniffing. It was pretty good, an excellent blend.

"This oil is in case you want to give him a massage, it's edible so you can put it in all sorts of places."

Hermione blushed bright red, "I have no idea how to massage someone."

"Then just keep your touch nice and gentle." Lavender picked up a book and waved it in Hermione's face, "this is How to be a Great Lover by Lou Paget. Now, it's a Muggle book, but it does give step by step instructions on how to give great head. Read it before you go to his room."

Hermione blushed again.

"Trust me," Lavender smirked, "he'll love you for it."

"Alright," Hermione took a deep breath, "what do I do if I can't get him to go to bed?"

Lavender shook her head, "I really can't see that being a problem."

"He can be pretty stubborn when he wants to be."

Lavender rolled her eyes again. "Look, you have been writing letters to each other for about five weeks yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And if you would please re-read me the one he sent you this morning."

Hermione pulled it out of the bundle in her top draw and smiled at it, "'Longing chains me. When you raise your eyelids it is as effective as if you had taken off your clothes and while I know that to have you is a sin, sometimes a sin is a pleasure.'"

"So, you're not going to have any problems." Lavender smiled, who would have thought the Potions Master would have written that? "You have the negligee I got for you?"

"Yep."

"And the black gown to wear to dinner?"

"Yep."

"Good, you're ready." Lavender wrapped her scarf around her neck and opened her arms. "Hug me before I go."

Hermione hugged her awkwardly and Lavender whispered "Good Luck" in her ear before maneuvering her trunk out the door.

It was going to be strange spending Christmas alone. She had never done that before. But she wouldn't be alone. She would be with Severus. Regardless, she was the only one to be staying behind in the South West Tower, even Harry, Hogwarts stalwart Christmas resident, was leaving this year. Of course, few people knew where Harry was going. He'd told Ron he was going to Grimmald place. Considering Ron had not yet adapted to the fact that Harry was actually being civil to Draco, he really didn't need to know the truth, not yet any way.

In truth, Hermione was growing worried about Ron. She'd expressed her concern to Harry but he had dismissed her fears. She couldn't dismiss them though. Ron's anger, Ron's growing detachment from everyone who loved him, it didn't sit right with her. Ron had always been loyal, almost to a fault. Even when she knew jealousy was eating at him, even when he played second fiddle to the most famous boy in the Wizarding World, Ron had remain steadfast by Harry's side. Suddenly he was lashing out and was seemingly unconcerned for anyone's feelings other than his own.

He'd laughed about the Death Eater Exhibition. That photograph in the Daily Prophet that had haunted so many, Ron had purchased every copy he could find and had pasted it all over the common room, all over Draco's door. While he had never liked Draco and the animosity between the Malfoy's and the Weasley's was legendary, Hermione had never thought he could be so blatantly cruel. His actions had gone far beyond mere dislike or rivalry. He seemed full of a malicious hatred that knew no bounds…and it was all directed at one person. He wanted to hurt Draco, and he would do so even if it cost him the respect of all of his friends.

She smiled and waved goodbye to Lavender. Harry came out of his room with his trunk. He and Ron were not really speaking and Ron almost knocked him over getting his trunks past him. Hermione noticed the Contract tucked under Ron's arm. Harry had told her that Ron had become quite obsessed by it, checking thrice daily and giving Harry hell for his apparent lack of success. Despite Ron's own short comings on the Contract and Harry's abundance of rose buds, Ron had targeted Harry's seeming inability to get a full rose as a mark of failure. All of this coupled with Ron's constant verbal – and occasional physical – attacks on Draco had left Harry cold and with little sympathy for any problems Ron may have.

Not that Ron was looking for sympathy. In his current state of mind, both Harry and Hermione could go to hell and he wouldn't care less. He saw any friendship with or defense of Draco Malfoy as an act of betrayal. He had effectively cut them both off.

"Hey!"

Hermione jumped and then laughed at her fright. Draco stood beside her looking rather delicious in a black jumper and blue jeans, she had to admit, Harry had a real cute boyfriend.

"I can see you're all ready to go," She said quietly.

"Absolutely, I can barely wait to get home." He grinned.

Hermione waved at Ron who sneered at her.

"Happy Holiday's Weasel," Draco drawled, "if you're lucky you might get one of your brother's old boots for a gift."

"Draco, don't be a fucking shit!" Hermione hissed. Harry was scowling at them, he was trying to coax Hedwig into her cage and she really didn't want to go.

"Never fear Ferret, you never know, you might get lucky and they'll forget to send you a bill for wiping your Father's arse this month."

"Get fucked you shit eat…"

"WOULD YOU TWO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP PLEASE?"

All eyes turned to Harry. Ron gave Draco one final sneer and turned, walking out of the tower without saying goodbye to anyone. Draco folded his arms across his chest and scowled. Harry managed to push Hedwig into her cage and locked the door.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Draco asked Hermione angrily.

Well not in this mood, no. "Ah, no, I don't really want to spend the next two weeks being a third wheel."

He held out a small crystal bottle to her, still in a foul mood, but forcing a smile to her. "This is a Portkey. It has been charmed to take you to the Manor. If you get bored or you change your mind, you just have to hold the base still and twist the top and you'll get to us."

"Thank you." She smiled, even when he was sulking he was kind of cute. Looking around she noticed that the Common Room was empty with the exception of the three of them. Harry was sitting on his trunks looking a little pissed off, and Draco was sulking. It didn't look like the most auspicious of beginnings for a holiday together. But Harry hadn't taken his trunks back into his room, so they were definitely still going.

Hermione kissed them both, wished them a Merry Christmas and watched as they headed out the door. They weren't going by train, the plan was to go to Hogsmeade and Apparate themselves away. Which left her there alone with the ultimate seduction plan.

Harry arrived at Malfoy Manor scant seconds after Draco. He had expected to Apparate inside, but found himself standing in the front courtyard with an impressive view of the House itself. He would later find out that it was impossible to Apparate directly into the house, one needed a Portkey to do that and Draco had given the only Portkey to Hermione lest she change her mind and choose to join them.

He knew a little about the house. It stood on the site of a medieval priory. At the time of the dissolution of the religious houses it had been bought by the Viscount d'Malfoi who had traveled to England in 1486 in an effort to escape the Continental Witch Hunts. The original Viscount and his descendants then lived in the original priory until it was razed by Muggles in 1597. It went a long way to explaining the Malfoy family's hatred of Muggles. The Malfoy family had almost been wiped out in the Witch Hunts, as had a lot of Pureblood families. Of course, in the end the greatest number of victims of the hunts were the hapless Muggles who had no powers at all. Construction of the existing house took around twelve years to complete and it had been home to the family ever since. It was built using the then newly-popular Italian style, and Italian craftsmen were employed to make the internal decorations and the furniture to match. The gardens were not completed until the eighteenth century when the formal gardens, orangery, and terraces were laid out. The warding on the house was now so strong that it seemed to shimmer like a mirage.

The whole lot had almost been lost in the war the previous year.

Harry owed every ounce of knowledge on the place to Hermione who had researched it after Harry had announced he was going there for the holidays.

Looking at it, Harry didn't rightly care less that the place was built in an Italian style, or that the gardens were extensive, he could only think one thing. The place was fucking huge. He realized he was standing in the courtyard where a year before a battle had taken place and Harry had accidentally blasted the Malfoy's bore hound Mordeccarne into a thousand chunks of blood, bone and flesh. Harry shuffled nervously on the spot and wondered if Draco knew it was Harry that had killed his pet. He was beginning to think it had been a bad idea coming here.

"Well?"

Harry looked at Draco and tried to smile. It came out as a grimace. Not the reaction Draco had expected.

"It isn't that bad," he said raising his eyebrow in irritated wonder.

"It's very…big."

Draco shrugged, "you get used to it." He walked towards the doors and as he approached they swung open in welcome. The Master was home, the house recognized it's own. Harry hesitated for a moment and followed Draco inside out of the cold winter chill.

The room they walked into was a small entrance room whose stand out feature was a large marble fireplace; big enough for a fully grown man to stand in. This was the entrance room, anyone arriving through the Floo system or via Portkey would end up here to be welcomed by the House Elf who was now opening a second door and staring at Draco as though seeing a ghost.

Harry looked around him. It was not the grand entrance hall he was expecting. He really didn't know what he was expecting, but not this. Perhaps he thought they would show off their wealth and power upon any piddling little Wizards arrival. Instead this little room served as the first impression. It was pleasantly warm and Harry suspected that it had been charmed to be so. Across one wall, opposite the fireplace, were pegs for coats and cloaks and Harry noticed uncomfortably that a number of cloaks were hung on pegs already. A couple he recognized. He had seen Lucius Malfoy wear the heavy woolen travel cloak before, the detailing of serpents twinned around each other was almost burned into his brain. He shuddered. That their cloaks should be here, hung up as though they were at home and the war never happened, seemed eerie. There were even Wellington boots lined up across the boot rack and umbrellas in the umbrella stand. A narrow pew like bench sat against the wall beside the door. A pair of black leather gloves had been casually thrown there and forgotten. Draco picked them up and turned them over in his hand, then casting a look at Harry he quickly put them down.

The room was unmistakably like someone's home. A family home at that and it made Harry all the more uneasy. He had no place here.

Draco turned to the Elf who still stood in the doorway, the look of surprise frozen on his face.

"Well, I take it Non never told you I was coming," Draco said to it, his voice held a certain disdain and Harry almost laughed. The Malfoy's treatment of their House Elves was legend, he had no doubt Draco was holding back for his benefit.

"No, Sir, Master Draco," The Elf stuttered, "But, but an honor it is to have you home, Sir."

"Have the trunks taken up." Draco walked imperiously past the Elf, Harry turned as he shuffled past, smiled and mumbled an "excuse me" to which the Elf almost passed out in shock.

"You don't have to speak to them you know," Draco said, "they don't expect it."

"Yes, but it is polite."

Draco rolled his eyes. "OK, whatever. Now, do you want to do the 2 sickle tour or do you want to see our room?"

"Whatever comes first." Harry looked around him and he couldn't help but gasp. This was what he had expected of an entrance. A huge airy foyer seemed to explode from the small entrance room. Marble statues seemed to leer out of the corners and whisper amongst themselves. Dozens of paintings adorned the walls. The Malfoy ancestors stared out at Harry, all with a set of distinguishing features. Gray eyes, blonde hair and a beauty that he couldn't rightly fathom. Harry could hear them whispering, shaking their heads and staring at him. More than once he heard the words "half blood" uttered and he was about to turn around and walk out when Draco piped up rather loudly.

"Don't worry about the paintings, they'll get it out of their system soon enough."

The paintings fell to silence.

"Um, Draco," Harry said, trying to smile, but failing miserably, "I don't think this was the best idea. Maybe I should go back to the school."

Draco spun on his heel. "Why?"

"I…I don't really feel very comfortable here. I mean, it's your families…I mean…"

Draco frowned. "Look, it's just a house. I know what happened here, I was here when it happened. I know you killed my dog, I know you helped to bring my Mother down and I know it's a little intimidating, but It's just a house. Can't you just give it a chance? I mean, aside from two days when I have some things I have to do, I'll be here with you the whole time. Nothing is going to happen to you, you might even…"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted, "What two days? I thought we were coming here to take some time out…together."

"We are," Draco smiled, "but I have a couple of things I need to do."

"Like what?"

"Gods Harry, you sound like a fishwife." Draco grinned as Harry flushed red with fury, "Well, firstly the Death Eater Exhibition is on the Salisbury Plain, so I am going to that and…"

"YOU'RE WHAT?" Harry's voice echoed through the hall and the paintings began to mumble again, "why the hell are you going to see that? You don't need to go and see that. What kind of a sadist are you?"

Draco drew a deep breath, "I just want to see that he is alright, maybe talk to the Curator, make sure no one has tried to do anything. If it was your father you'd do the same."

Harry probably would, but he wasn't going to let Draco know that. This was supposed to be their holiday, now Draco was suddenly making day trips and leaving in this miserable house. He turned as he mounted the stairs, following Draco to Merlin knew where. The last Lord of the Manor stared out of a picture frame and sneered at him.

"I don't think your house likes me," he muttered, edging past the painting, half expecting Lucius to reach out and grab him.

"It probably doesn't, it knows you tried to kill it."

"I thought you said it was only a house."

Draco grinned, "It is."

Harry sighed, "So what's the second thing you're leaving me to do?" he asked sulkily.

"I have to go and see Pansy."

"Pansy?" Harry felt jealousy flare in his belly.

"Pansy Parkinson, you remember her from school?"

Harry remembered her alright. "Pug Faced Parkinson?" He laughed.

Draco, half way up the stairs, turned, his face deadly serious. "Don't call her that," he said quietly.

Harry felt the spark of jealousy turn into a full blown inferno, "Why not?" he sneered, and "she looks like a pug. What is she to you, some ex-lover?"

"You're letting your insecurities show, Potter," Draco drawled, but there was no humor in his voice.

"Then tell me why you have to go and see some ex-girlfriend," Harry said bitterly, "fancy a fuck for old times sake or something like that?"

"Now you're sounding like the Weasel," Draco said quietly, "and for your information, she was never my lover. She is, however, my friend. Her parents were killed during the war and she was forced to watch them being killed, then she was raped by three men twice her age. She tried to commit suicide by swimming out into a lake and stupefying herself. Her Uncle found her and she has been in St Mungo's ever since. She arrived home three days ago and I think I have the right to go and see her."

Harry flushed with shame, "I...I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Then don't presume to judge my relationships with everyone that I know. Do you think I would bother bringing you here if I was going to run out for a quick fuck? If you ever speak ill of one of my friends, living or dead, ever again, you can consider this over."

Harry's face was burning, he felt tears well in his eyes and he forced them back. He really should just go, this was a mistake. Instead of turning and fleeing down the stairs, he nodded dumbly. Draco stepped back down two stairs and tilted Harry's face up to his. He kissed him gently and Harry responded with sudden intensity.

"Master?"

They pulled apart quickly and Harry looked down to see another House Elf standing beside Draco. This one was particularly small, far smaller than Dobby, and with a look of superiority on its face that Harry couldn't believe.

Draco's face split into a wide smile, "Non!"

"Master Draco," said the House Elf with no reverence what so ever, "You're late. I was expecting you last night."

"We got delayed."

At the inference of 'we', the Elf turned and stared at Harry, looking him up and down. "And who is this?"

"Non, this is Harry, Harry, this is Non."

Harry smiled at the Elf, he couldn't quite believe that Draco was actually introducing him to a House Elf. "Hello Non," he said and offered his hand.

Non didn't take the hand, instead he looked Harry up and down again and positively glared at him. "Harry?" the elf said sharply to Draco, "Harry Potter?"

"Yes Non, Harry Potter."

Non looked at Draco and shook his head, "I don't think your Father would approve."

"Well father isn't here is he?"

Non looked back at Harry, "I will show you to the guest quarters.

"Non," Draco interrupted and the Elf looked at him questioningly. "Harry is staying with me."

The Elf shook his head again. The boy's father definitely would not approve.

******************************


	18. A Short Song About Love and Hate Part 4

**Chapter 9 - Part 4**

 _I warn you, it gets dark from here on in_

~

Krum was conscious of the cold rain that pelted his face, washing from his nostrils the too-sweet scent of decaying flowers. This was his dumping ground for all the bouquets she had refused to accept. Slowly he opened his eyes, in the distance he could see carriages taking students to the train, but she was staying. He knew she was staying. The rain fell steadily, gluing his black robes to his drenched flesh. In his country the winter brought the clean fresh snow, here it seemed that incessant rain made snow an impossibility.

But he was sure the last time he had come here it was snowing. Many things had been different then.

He felt as though he had been living in a dream and had only now managed to wake. He became aware of himself, of his surroundings. What was he doing here, at Hogwarts. Had his life at his home been so very bad that he would seek to live in this miserable raining place? In his heart he knew that it could not be so. He claimed even to himself that he had no idea that she would be here – but deep inside he always knew she would come back to Hogwarts. She had always told him about it, in every letter, and he still had them all. He felt as if he were a chess piece arranged on a board and played by fate. He may as well be a stone monument, his face weathered by time and streaming with moisture. It was his fate to watch her win. He was nothing more than a pawn in this game.

He pressed his arms around his chest and looked up at the castle walls. Although his flesh felt as cold and wet as that stone, he did not feel chilled. His hair clung to his head and face and he walked back to the stairs, looking further through the archways and the apparent haven within.

This place was no haven for him. The castle with its stone gargoyles that seemed to stare him down had been little more than a place of torment. Her continued rejection of him played heavy on his soul. He had been his countries champion, and he could have been again. He was the hero of his school and he could be teaching there. Instead he was here, being brought to his knees by the pretensions of a girl of no blood or breeding. Did she not realize that he'd had the world at his feet. Did she not realize what he had given up for her?

That fateful choice, and it seemed so many years ago now, to partner to the Yule ball at this very school, it had cost him dear. His classmates had glared at him with little respect. The *Durmstrang Champion choosing a Mudblood. Disgracing his name. And for what? It had all come to nothing. Champion indeed. She had ruined him as surely as the war had destroyed his kin.

It was time now to take back what he had lost. It was time to reclaim himself. It was time to make her understand just who he was.

*******************************

It was a strange sensation to be completely alone at Hogwarts. Hermione found it so peaceful she almost wished it was like this year round. Very few students had stayed. Since the war, families had held their children close. Hermione was almost estranged from her own parents because she had insisted on returning to the school in the first place. Staying for Christmas had just about tipped them over the edge.

Hermione spent two hours luxuriating in the bath, enjoying the fact that she didn't have to speak or share or feel self conscious. The bath oil that Lavender had made was an incredible experience, she felt as though she was floating when she climbed out of the water. She took her time preparing herself, knowing that everyone would be eating together tonight, she had to look seductive, she had to whet his appetite.

As Lavender promised, the hair serum created luxurious shining curls. Again she followed Lavenders advice and applied minimal make up. Just a simple base, mascara and a slick of lip gloss. Instead of robes she wore a simple black gown, floor length with a deep scooped neck and long fitted sleeves. She was her own worst enemy, but she had to admit, she looked pretty good.

She made her way to dinner, still floating on clouds and feeling like the greatest seductress to ever walk on the earth. She smiled gracefully and sat down.

"You look lovely my Dear."

"Thank you Professor Dumbledore."

"Yes, you are looking very Beautiful tonight, Herm-own-ninny."

She blushed and mumbled, "thank you Viktor."

She looked around. Something was missing. Something crucial to the whole plan. "Um, Professor Dumbledore, Sir, where are Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkled and he looked over his half moon glasses at her, "Ah, yes. Well, you see the Professors decided to take some time off, they have gone away for the holidays."

Oh.

****************

Hermione was going to kill Severus Snape. She had already fired off a letter abusing his very existence and sent it out with an owl. It would do no good, without an address it could take days to find him – and she wanted to abuse him now! How could the over grown bat have left and not deem it fit and right to tell her he was going? The only reason she'd stayed was because he was going to be at Hogwarts! She had alienated her family so that she could stay behind! She had told him that, in a letter, she was sure of it.

Then it dawned on her as clear as a sun rising, the reason he had gone was because he knew she would be there. Knowing nothing at all about Professor McGonagall's party or about their previous arrangement, Hermione was not able to conceive any other reason for his going. The certainty of it made her ache. He was running away from her, he didn't want to be with her at all.

She looked at the negligee that Lavender had left for her. It was something that Hermione secretly thought a waste. Long and elegant, it was made of the finest dove gray silk with a low cut back and fine straps over the shoulders. It fell to the floor and beyond, too long for Hermione but Lavender insisted it made it more romantic. What Hermione loved was the way the soft fabric felt against her skin. It was almost erotic, like a fluid pleasure as it slipped over her. It was a shame to waste it on a night alone, but she had wanted to wear it so desperately that she pulled it on and marveled at the sensations that shot through her as it slid down over her breasts, belly and hips.

She had, of course, considered going to Malfoy Manor. She had been invited after all, and her plans had fallen through. She decided against it simply because she decided that Harry and Draco needed time alone to get to know each other beyond stolen nights in bed and seven years of trying to hex each other.

Besides, being at Hogwarts alone could well be a blessing. She could study, she could read and she would have no one to stop her and tell her she was being boring or no fun. She could also plot Severus Snape's painful demise.

Deciding it was too early for sleep, she headed back out to the Common Room. The fire had been going all day and she knew that the room would be wonderfully warm, so she didn't bother with wrapping robes around herself. There was no one there, she could feel very decadent sitting by the fire, drinking a glass of wine in this beautiful gown. She noticed a book on the floor and sighed as she bent to pick it up. Hermione had certain reverence for books, she would never leave one open, face down on the floor where its spine would split and break. She inspected the cover. The Malleus Maleficarum.

Hermione frowned, who was reading the infamous Witch Hammer?

Hermione had begun to straighten when she heard a door slamming behind her. She made to turn and only just heard the sound of footsteps pounding across the floor behind her. She never managed the turn. Before she could a hard shove sent her sprawling across the floor. She managed to get her hands under her and her chin up before she hit the ground. She didn't break any teeth, but she bit her lip and she saw fresh blood splatter across the cover of the book that she had dropped back to the floor. She felt the skin from the heels of her palms grate across the rug, tearing off skin and imbedding fibers into the raw subcutaneous meat of her hands.

She couldn't speak, the wind had been knocked out of her, and she worked her mouth open and closed, trying to verbalize something, trying to work out who had pushed her with so much force.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Good evening Herm-own-ninny."

*******************

Draco's bed was almost as big as the bedroom Harry had occupied at the Dursley's. He could get lost in this bed. This bed needed its own guide. Fortunately, Harry had one. He was lying half on top of Draco with his head on Draco's chest. They had been talking in the darkened room for a number of hours now. The House Elves had served them dinner there. Harry got the distinct impression that the Elf, Non, did not approve of the arrangement. He wondered if the Elf carried some kind of a grudge against him personally, in much the same way that Kreacher had against the Order. He was, after all, Lucius Malfoy's servant and Harry had learned the hard way that not all House Elves were like Dobby. Many of them harbored the sentiments of their Masters deep in their chests. Non, however, seemed particularly protective of Draco and Draco treated the Elf with unexpected and almost affectionate kindness.

They had avoided certain rooms in the house. His parents apartments were left alone, although Harry knew that Draco would go in there the next day. Harry doubted that he would be invited to tour that place and he certainly didn't desire it. Non had watched Harry suspiciously when they went into the library and he suddenly felt unwelcome. It wasn't that Non was nasty; he wasn't like Kreacher. He simply seemed overly protective of his Master. In the end Harry asked Draco about the Elf and Draco laughed about it.

"When I was little, Non was like a toy for me. I don't know how it happened, Father would be able to tell you. Anyway, since I took him everywhere with me, Father tasked him with protecting me. Looks like he still thinks he should."

Harry smiled, "why should he protect you from me?"

"Because you are big mean Harry Potter who did away with the Dark Lord. Father used to tell me you'd come and get me if I didn't eat my greens."

"I was your bogey man?"

"Well, Dad was hardly going to use Voldemort as a threat now was he?"

Harry laughed, incredulous and Draco pulled him to up to kiss him.

"Of course, I never did eat my greens with much gusto."

"And it looks like your Dad was right, I did come to get you."

Draco drew Harry's face to his and kissed Harry's closed eyelids. Harry was tired, there were shadows beneath his eyes. Draco brushed his lips across them and felt Harry shiver. He was tense. Being in the Malfoy Manor was obviously still a bit of a thing for him. Draco kissed Harry's forehead, the bridge of his nose, his willing mouth. The interplay of their tongues was like a seductive slow dance and they were both drawn in to the curious rhythm of it. Harry's skin seemed to undulate at every point of contact and Draco could imagine that they would melt together, like toffee, with their bones merging into a complex and beautiful cradle. Some modern art piece.

Draco rolled Harry over onto his back and ran his tongue along the arc of Harry's collarbone, leaving a warm trail of spit in his wake, which then quickly cooled on Harry's skin. He brushed his lips over Harry's chest, pressing them into the hollow just below Harry's ribs. In the entire of his life, Draco had never had a lover who had possessed him in quite the way Harry did. Draco had always taken his pleasure where he could get it; he had been selfish in his desires and often cruel. With Harry, his only desire was to please. He wanted to taste and touch every part of Harry's body, he wanted to crawl inside and sleep amongst the heat of Harry's innards, he wanted to deconstruct the puzzle of flesh and know every nerve and fiber intimately. He licked Harry's belly and kissed it gently, hearing Harry moan softly beneath him.

"That feels good," Harry whispered, "I love it when you do that."

Draco smiled against Harry's flesh. "Your skin tastes salty. It's like sea water."

"I've never tasted sea water."

"I will take you to the ocean in the summer. We'll go swimming. Maybe we'll go to Spain, or Greece or live on a yacht just off the coast in Barbados."

Harry smiled, the world suddenly opened up before him. He hadn't considered it before. Draco came up to stroke his hair, his arms and his shoulders and Harry felt his muscles unbunch and relax. He had been tense since he arrived at the Manor, now his hands relaxed into loosely curled fists. Draco coaxed them open further and traced the lines of his palm with his tongue, mapping out Harry's life line, which was mercifully long, his heart line with its one lover and his head line with its thirst to know why. Draco stroked his tongue over each finger tip, finally taking a finger into his mouth and sucking softly, causing Harry's breath to catch in his throat.

Draco kissed the fold of Harry's arm and ran his tongue along the milky skin of his inner forearm, up to the soft hollow of his elbow. Harry sighed and relaxed into the sensation of being stroked and tasted. He made a soft contented moan deep in his throat. Draco was rubbing oil into his hands now and Harry smiled, knowing what was to come, knowing he was about to get a whole lot more vocal. Silky oiled hands stroked down his body and pressed gently at his entrance, stroking, probing and penetrating and Harry's sucked air noisily through his teeth and felt his back arc up of it's own accord.

Gods how did Draco know just the right spot to hit every time?

Draco chuckled softly to himself and kissed the top of Harry's knee, lifting his leg to run his tongue along the underside of Harry's thigh.

"I want you inside me," Harry's whispered, his voice catching as Draco stroked his fingers along Harry's sensitive prostate.

"I am inside you," Draco replied, his lips never leaving Harry's flesh.

"No…" Harry moved his leg from Draco's hands and wrapped both of them around Draco's skinny hips, "I want you to fuck me."

Draco froze. "Fuck you? Now?"

"Yes…" Harry whimpered, willing the stroking to resume, "If – If you want to."

Emotions warred in Draco's face. Yes he wanted to. Hell yes. But he had never done this, he was worried about how to do it. He didn't want to hurt Harry. His own cock was pressed hard into the back of Harry's thigh, begging him to accept the offer. He gently cupped Harry's balls and ran his hand up the silky shaft of Harry's cock and Harry mewed like a kitten. Draco drew a shuddered breath. "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me, I know you won't."

Oh Gods, but what if he did?

Draco moved slightly, rubbing some oil over his cock and then adding some more for good measure. His fear about just how to do it now resurfaced. He didn't want to take Harry from behind. Not for this first time. He wanted to be able to see Harry's face, he wanted to be able to kiss Harry's soft mouth and this position, a familiar one, seemed suddenly right. He just had to push Harry's legs back a little further than he would a woman. He lifted Harry's knees, spread his legs a little further and gently eased into Harry's body.

***************************  
Oh Gods, oh shit, no, please. Hermione's thoughts flew desperately through her brain as a boot ground into the small of her back. She twisted frantically away from the boot and a large hand suddenly closed around her wrist, grinding the fine bones inside together painfully, and hauled her to her feet. She found herself staring into the hopelessly deranged face of Viktor Krum.

Krum would have to be a foot taller than she was, skinny but muscular and with black eyes that blazed with a mad fury that scared her more than the fact that he could break her wrist at any moment. There was no reason in those eyes. There was nothing she could work with there. The relentless stare bored holes into her face, as though he were looking through her, into her brain, dissecting her like he would an insect or a rodent. She could see her own horrified features reflected back in the fathomless eyes.

Hermione couldn't even pull away, her body was paralyzed with terror. Her mind reeled though, as it always did. She had left her wand in her room. And getting to it seemed nigh on impossible. Krum had to be at the very least, fifty pounds heavier than she was. There was no way she could win a fight against him. She had to try and talk to him, try and find some spark of reason in him.

"Viktor," she yelped. Her voice was thin and frightened, she tried to control it. "W-what are you doing here? Do – Do you w-want to t-talk?"

"Talk?" Viktor spat, and Hermione felt hot spittle splash against her face, "now you vant to talk?" Hermione shivered and he ground the bones in her wrist a little harder, "Vot is there to talk about?"

I – We can t-talk about anything you want," she laughed a little hysterically, "like why you're here?"

"Vhy I am here?" Viktor laughed and cocked his right arm, "you are vhy I am here, and you are vhy I am in this hell."

Hermione saw a flash of white knuckle an instant before the fist smashed in her face.

The pain exploded through her head. She inhaled a freshet of blood and behind her eyes she saw a flash of electric blue as her brain hit the inside of her skull.

Krum hit her again and her lips smeared wetly against her teeth, the soft skin of her mouth splitting and shredding. This made the time Harry had slapped her feel like a gentle caress and absurdly she worried that he would break her teeth, the logic that he was about to destroy her not yet registering. Krum let go of her arm and she crumpled to the floor. She couldn't open her eyes, though hot tears seared them, she didn't want to see him doing this to her. A stray thought about the safety of her organs flashed across her mind and she curled herself into a fetal position and wrapped her arms around her head. Krum's boot stomped hard into her boney hip, and then again and he was screaming at her, although fear didn't register all that she was saying.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH. YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER THAN ME. YOU THINK YOU ARE SO PRETTY, FLAUNTING YOURSELF AROUND THE SCHOOL, BUT YOU ARE UGLY, YOU ARE AN UGLY MUDBLOOD CUNT AND YOU THINK YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR ME? LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME! LOOK AT WHAT YOU MAKE ME DO!"

Krum's boot connected with the base of Hermione's spine and sent a hot, jarring, wave of pain up her body.

He's going to kill me, Hermione thought, He's going to kick me to death right here in the Common Room.

She rolled over and saw the boot drawing back to kick her again and she frantically grabbed at his legs, trying desperately to throw him off balance. He stumbled but recovered and with a great roar of rage he drove the toe of his boot into Hermione's shoulder. The muscle and bones tore and broke and Hermione shrieked in agony, the scream tearing through her and echoing through the empty corridors. Krum reached down and pulled her back up by her wrist, it was obvious that he would simply pull the arm out of its socket, damaging it further if Hermione resisted. She stumbled to her feet.

"P-please…" she looked at him, tears streaming down her face, "p-please V-Viktor…"

"Do you want me, Herm-own-ninny?"

She frowned, confused, "w-what?"

He shook his head sadly, this was obviously not the answer he was looking for. He turned away from her for a moment and grabbed the heavy iron poker from beside the fire place. Hermione watched in terror as he approached her with the poker waving erratically in his hand. She tried to force her legs to work and took a step backwards, a white-hot pain shot through her body and she cried out the agony. A drop of blood dripped from her chin to her breast, trickling over her pale flesh and staining the silk of her night gown.

Krum reached out and laid the heavy iron handle of the poker against Hermione's cheek and traced the delicate line of her jaw with it, curving it under and tracing the underside of Hermione's chin with it. The metal felt cold and slightly rough and she shivered. Krum smiled, his face ecstatic.

"V-Viktor?" Hermione sobbed, "w-why a-are you d-doing this?"

Krum's eyes drilled into her and he smiled nastily.

"Please V-Viktor, p-please put down the p-poker and we can t-talk about this."

"Look at vot you make me do," he said, still smiling, his voice was almost serene, "vhy do you make me do this?"

"I – I don't, I didn't…" she trembled, "P-please, p-put the p-poker d-down."

Very slowly Krum shook his head. "I can't," he said, "You need to be taught your lesson." He raised the poker high.

Hermione stared into the black eyes boring into her head, they were full of lust, deranged lust, demented anger. The poker was going to smash into her head, tear into her brain, destroy everything she held dear about herself. She tore sideways, screaming with agony as the bones in her wrist twisted and snapped. She ran for the door, but Krum followed, taller and faster and he blocked her escape. The poker sailed past her head and crashed into the wall, biting into the tapestry and tearing a great gaping hole in it.

"I LOVE YOU," Krum yelled, "WHY DO YOU RUN WHEN I LOVE YOU?"

Hermione twisted and ran across the room, ignoring her screaming muscles. She had to get away, she had to. She heard a rush of air behind her and the poker glanced off her broken shoulder, as her body sang in pain. He pulled the poker back and she turned, throwing her good arm up and grabbing his forearm in her small hand. Her elbow locked and she held his arm up with all of the strength she would ever possess.

"Viktor, please, you, you must stop this."

Krum laughed and pushed himself against her, rubbing himself along the length of her body. With his free hand he tore at the silk gown, tearing it from her breasts and pulling away rivulets of flesh under his finger nails. Hermione let out a wordless howl and drove her knee straight up into Krum's crotch, at the same time she shoved his arm backwards with all her might. The knee missed its mark but it was enough to throw him off balance. She twisted his wrist as hard as she could and as he lost his grip on the poker, it cluttered to the floor.

************************

Harry cried out, not sure if what he felt was pain or pleasure. It was something completely alien. Harry felt his arsehole trying to contract, his body desperately trying to tense up. Oh Gods it hurt. His breaths were coming in short sharp bursts and he clenched his teeth against the pain.

"I'm hurting you," Draco panted and Harry nodded, his eyes tearing. Draco moved to pull out of him, "I'll stop."

"No!" Harry sobbed from deep in his throat, "No, don't stop." He sought out Draco's mouth and sucked at his tongue, aching to have Draco inside him every way he could. It was time for this. He wanted it. He craved it. He ran his hands down Draco's back until his fingers splayed over the top of Draco's buttocks. He felt his muscles loosening and warming, melting around Draco, drawing him deep into his body.

"Ahhhh, fuck." Draco's teeth closed on Harry's shoulder eliciting a tiny exquisite pain. "You're so tight, Gods you're so tight it almost hurts."

"You can fuck me hard. You can open me up."

Draco kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth with his tongue, seeking passage into his throat. He scrambled to his knees, lifting Harry up a little from the bed and sliding his knees under him. He stroked Harry's thighs gently for a moment before pushing Harry's knees right back against his chest, hooking Harry's legs over his arms and driving still deeper into Harry's body. Harry screamed, lost in passion as Draco withdrew and drove into him again Draco's face was streaked with sweat, his expression poised between pain and ecstasy. "Do you like that? Does that feel good?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed, he couldn't speak. The only sounds he could make were the strange mewing noises deep in his throat. His wide eyes shone with tears, he nodded his silent ascent.

Draco drove into him a little harder and Harry cried out again. The pain had almost passed, his body felt full somehow, he could feel every inch of Draco's cock plunging into his body. The image of Draco fucking the girl came to him unbidden, he wanted to make Draco make those noises, cry out like she had made him.

"You can" Harry sucked in air through his teeth, "You can…harder."

Draco gave in to the need to fuck him hard. He rode him, grunting harshly with each thrust into Harry's yielding body, urging Harry's hips with his hands until they kept a rhythm between them. Without breaking this rhythm Draco reached down between their bodies and began stroking Harry's hard cock and watched as Harry's body arched into Draco's own and his eyes began to roll back in his head as his body edged closer to orgasm.

The pleasure began to overload Harry's brain and his mind began to swim and swirl and he was lost in the waves of sensation passing through him . He drove his hips up hard against Draco's, forcing Draco all the way into him. Draco yelped and moaned and fucked him harder still. Harry felt his balls ready to explode, the tip of his cock felt raw, Draco's heart seemed to be beating inside him.

Harry came, thrusting up again, screaming into the pillows, into Draco's shoulder, into the very air. "I love you, oh Gods I love you so much."

Draco didn't speak, he couldn't. He kept riding Harry, lasting through the convulsing of Harry's body until he came to his own orgasm, grunting and yelling and sobbing as he filled Harry's body with his own useless seed.

In the dark, Harry closed his eyes, holding Draco tight against him as Draco collapsed, spent into Harry's arms. He did love him, he loved him beyond words, but now he had told him…and Draco had said nothing. Harry could only hope that Draco would dismiss it as something uttered in the heat of passion.

He hoped Draco wouldn't hate him for it.

***************************

Krum's eyes were very wide, as though he couldn't quite believe that she had managed to disarm him. Then his face split in to a mad grin.

He lunged.

Hermione dodged aside and ran, managing to get through the one door she knew would be her savior or her destruction. If she could get her wand she could stop him, if she didn't, she would be trapped in her bedroom with him and there would be no place left to run. Krum was right behind her, catching a fistful of her hair he yanked her back hard. She felt her neck snap back and she was pulled off her feet, falling heavily against Krum. He pinned her arms to her body, laughing softly in her ear.

"You're so smart," he whispered in her ear, "I was just going to suggest we take it to the bedroom."

She felt Krum's sharp hip bones pressing into her buttocks. He tore the gown from her body, digging harsh fingers into the soft flesh of her buttocks and breasts. For a moment the contact was sickeningly erotic. Krum's penis was hard, pressed against the back of her leg.

Then Krum lowered his head and sank his teeth into the slight ridge of muscle between Hermione's neck and shoulder.

The pain was immediate and hot and huge. Hermione felt muscle fibers twist and rip and fresh blood trickled over her collar bone and breast. She heard herself screaming, then sobbing and she desperately tried to drive her elbow up into Krum's chest and kick at his legs. He pinned her arms a little tighter and kicked her legs apart and when she wouldn't stop struggling, he ran her forward at the dresser, slamming her face into the mirror and stunning her. She almost blacked out completely.

The pain in her shoulder ebbed a little and she felt the struggle was done. Her head swam, all sensations dizzy and remote. Krum's tight hold drove his fist up under her ribs, crushing her. She could hardly breathe. She was going to die. He was going to rape her and kill her and she was going to die in a naked bloody mess in her room. These sensations of pain and disconnection were the last she would ever feel, these fleeting, panicky thoughts the last she would ever have.

Think you silly little girl, think. He hasn't done away with that marvelous brain of yours yet.

Fingers, unwanted and unwelcome pushed roughly into her body. She didn't cry out, she had no sound left in her. She was half lying on the dresser, her feet hanging slackly on the floor, her head lying in a bed of glass on the dressers top. She turned her face to the side and forced her eyes to open, blood was in one of them, through the other she could see objects on the dresser, fallen over, but still there. Perfume bottles, a hair brush, Lavenders collection of ribbons and hair pins, the little bottle Draco had given her that day, a potions text book. She stopped. The bottle Draco had given her. It was a Portkey.

Krum had released her when her body had fallen limp, he was now using his fingers of one hand to explore the inside of her vagina, the other he was using to stroke himself. She lifted one hand weakly and pulled the bottle to her face. Krum ignored her, knowing there was no fight left. She felt his cock against her entrance, ready to push into her and she put the base of the bottle in her mouth. Her hand was weak, she fumbled, trying to twist the top of the bottle. He made to push inside her and she closed her eyes against it. Then something hot and sticky burned against her buttocks and thighs, he had orgasmed before he could enter her.

She twisted the top of the bottle and thought she heard Dumbledore's voice call her name before a familiar tug came from behind her navel, and she was away.

************************************************************************  
 _NOTES:_

 _OK, pick the Abba lines._

 _For all the people who have been good enough to post reviews and e-mail me, THANKYOU! I really love getting them and it is fantastic to know that people are reading and enjoying. Of course, I would like some more!_

 _The poem Hermione wrote to Severus is Shakespeare's "Sonnet 116"_

 _The poem Severus wrote to Hermione is Dorothy Parker's "Symptom Recital"_

 _Harry's "Peace Frightens me speech" is an extract (with some liberties taken) from Steiner's monologue in Fellini's 'La Dolce Vita.'_


	19. And so this is Christmas

**Disclaimer: See prologue...**

 **Chapter 10**

 **And so this is Christmas**

"You'll like it, I promise you will."

Ron frowned and shivered. It was cold in the room despite the fire they had lit. He wished he had his shirt on, he wished he wasn't there at all. "I…I don't want…"

"Oh come on Ronald," Angelina laughed throatily, "are you scared?"

"No," Ron sounded unconvincing, "of course I'm not scared."

"You'll like it, I wouldn't give you something you wouldn't like." She kissed him, smothering his mouth with hers. As she pulled away, a thin stream of spit dripped down Ron's chin. He hadn't moved his mouth at all, hadn't met her tongue with his, but he'd closed his eyes, his head tilted up to hers. She pulled away and laughed at his mesmerized expression.

Ron was going to do whatever she wanted and he knew he was. He was edging towards her control gradually, tentative and mistrusting as one would edge down a stony cliff to the sea, and knowing full well what dangers would lie along that path, but taking it anyway, courting the danger whilst he pretended to defy it.

"I'll suck your cock if you do it," Angelina cajoled, "now I know you'd like that."

"No...I…"

She reached her hand down to caress his balls and his words dissolved into a harsh hissing sound as air rushed in through his gritted teeth.

"We should go back to the house," Ron said pointlessly. They weren't going anywhere. Not yet. She began to unbutton his jeans.

"Oh come on Ronnie, It won't hurt." Angelina pouted, her hand still caressing his balls. Ron looked away, his blue eyes felt the first sting of tears and he blinked them back. She wasn't going to get that out of him.

"Stop," he said quietly, not wanting her to stop but willing her to come to her senses and realize what she was doing.

"Now Ronnie," Angelina said, losing her patience, "I am offering you something you'll like, and I am offering to give you a blow job to go with it. You're just trying to be difficult. You wouldn't want George to find out about this now would you?"

"You wouldn't tell," Ron replied uncertainly, "you wouldn't risk your marriage."

Angelina laughed bitterly. "My marriage? Is that what you call it? Do you know how long it has been since George and I actually fucked? It ceased to be a marriage when he screwed that little slut in London."

Ron had no idea about any 'little slut' in London. The secrets and betrayals of his brother's marriage had been a mystery to him and he wished that they had remained as such. He knew was that he was doing something that was wrong by just being there with her. When he had come outside, to the garden shed he once hid in as a boy, he should have known she would follow. He wondered for a moment if he did know and that the knowledge was father to the impedance to go. "Why don't you leave then?" he asked, his breath catching as she reached her hand into his jeans and began to masturbate him.

"Oh, I'll leave him," she smiled, "I just have a few things I have to do first." She lowered her face and took his cock into her mouth and he gasped, feeling suddenly surrounded by wet heat. He closed his eyes tight, wishing he were someone else, a good brother, Charlie. Angelina worked him expertly, stimulating him with her tongue. She kept her head relatively still, mouthing and tonguing the head of his penis and masturbating the shaft with her quick hands. Ron's hands began to close, grasping at the blanket beneath him and his hips bucked up into her mouth as he came, silently stifling his cries and groans with his tightly sealed mouth.

"I think you liked that," Angelina licked stray drops of come from her lips. He nodded absently, unable to speak lest he sob, not willing to tell her it was his first blowjob, that it was the first time that anyone had ever touched him so intimately and that it had been so shamefully good. "Now," Angelina commanded, "Hold out your arm."

He did so and he wrapped a silk cord around it, tightening it around his bicep. He watched her do it and realized that he was unbuttoned, his wet and flaccid penis just lying there for all the world to see. "Can I do my pants up?" he mumbled and she laughed and buttoned his jeans.

He watched as she cooked up. He had no idea how she had come across the drug, only that she had. She was a skilled potion maker and herbologist. She could have grown the poppies herself, extracted the opiate and baked the heroin in a standard cauldron in her kitchen. It was a simple enough process, and opium poppies were an easy enough commodity to buy in the Wizarding World. Many Purebloods still ate opium as a painkiller and it could be purchased from any Apothecary.

"It won't hurt much," she said, "only a little prick – you should be used to that."

He flushed hot and she brushed the baby soft skin in the crook of his elbow – and slid the needle into his vein.

He flinched. She untied his arm and the drug suddenly coursed through him in the rush of blood.

The nausea hit him almost instantly, and he scrambled forward, pushing past her and vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the dirt floor. They were not near the house and the small part of his brain that could still register logic was thankful for that. No one would be coming out to investigate the noise.

The vomiting stopped as suddenly as it started and he fell back, away from the sticky puddle. He clawed his way to the blanket and collapsed onto his back, staring unseeing at the roof, unable to move as euphoria washed over him.

Angelina lit a cigarette and watched him for a moment. No smile crossed her face, and no emotion flickered in her countenance. She inhaled the cigarette deeply and stared at him. He really was a beautiful boy, if you liked boys with freckles, which Angelina most certainly did. Ron Weasley had inherited the best of the Weasley family's physical traits. He had Percy's height and slenderness, which meant he looked good in Muggle jeans and shirts, and he had Bill's features. A finely boned face, long slender nose with soft fleshy lips and bright blue eyes. Those eyes were lost in wonder now and he was mumbling "rats in paradise" over and over again. His hair had grown longer in the last few months and looked far better than the short cut Fred and George had convinced him to get at the start of the school year.

He missed Charlie, she knew that, they all knew that. She had to admit that she missed Charlie herself – all those nights spent on sheets sodden with sweat and tears and semen. But she would never sully Charlie's name by revealing that affair. No, she would revenge herself on George in another way. This way. With Ron she would not find the comfort that she had found with Charlie. No, Ron was useful in an altogether different way.

She stood and walked away from him. Leaving him to the cold. He couldn't feel it now anyway.

"Merry Christmas Ron," she muttered and flicked her cigarette butt at him. He didn't speak, he just stared vacantly at the roof and at whatever visitations he was having there. She closed the door of the garden shed and returned to the house and her sleeping husband who no doubt hadn't noticed that she was gone.

**********************************************

Hermione was speeding forwards is a howl of wind and swirling color with the Portkey magnetically attached to her hand. She had never liked traveling by Portkey and despite knowing that she was being spirited away to safety, the wind pressed hard on her broken body and made the journey that much more unbearable. Given the alternative, however, and she would have stayed here in this storm for eternity. Just so long as she was safe, just so long as she was as far away from Krum as she could possibly get.

Her feet slammed into the ground so unexpectedly that she sprawled forward, her face hitting the floor. She almost laughed, if her face hadn't already been pulp, it probably would have hurt.

Around the small room, wall sconces ignited and cast the chamber in a yellow glow. It was warm in here, it could lull her to sleep if she was not careful, and that made her panic. She couldn't pass out yet. She needed to get help. Her own survival instincts kicked in and she tried to push herself up. It didn't work. One eye was full of blood, her ears were ringing, one wrist broken and the other arm useless due to the muscle damage in her shoulder. She curled herself into a fetal position and wondered why in hell she was still alive.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," she gurgled through the blood in her throat and laughed. She was aware only of the throbbing pain in her body and the fact that the pain meant she was still alive and for that she should be thankful. After she lay there for a moment she began to discern other sensations. Warm air on her skin, she shivered in spite of it. She was naked. Harry was going to find her naked. She had never been naked in front of a man before and now she was going to be naked in front of Harry. And probably Draco too. The absurdity of her fear crystallized in her head. It didn't matter that she was naked, as long as she was safe. Harry would keep her safe, because that is what Harry did. Harry would look after her. Her Harry, all hers.

A sound forced her to look up. Someone or something was standing over her and for a brief, terrifying moment she thought Krum had followed her. But this being had not Krum's height. It was a small thing, it did not lumber up to her. It did not smell of sweat and hate and it wasn't yelling obscenities at her. It stood beside her and looked down at her form. This little thing was not Krum, it was a House Elf.

"Miss?" came a timid voice, "Can Posie help you Miss?"

Posie? Posie the House Elf. How original. She tried to smile, wanting to be nice and polite to the little creature, but nothing worked. She forced her throat to choke back blood and whispered, "H-Harry P-Potter."

The Elf trembled, tentatively touching Hermione's cheek and bringing forth a whimper from Hermione.

"P-please," she sobbed, "please get H-Harry."

The elf bowed its head, eyes wide and frightened. Posie had no idea who the girl was or what terrible calamity had befallen her, but Posie did know that interrupting her Master while he was…well, there had been talk about exactly what the Master was doing with Harry Potter…it was not a task Posie relished taking on.

She looked back to the sobbing girl on the floor. Blood was beginning to pool under her and Posie decided that she would just have to face her Master's wrath. This girl needed help. She nodded silently and Apparated.

**********************************************

"I'm not saying I have to get married," Minerva slurred. Her wine glass was tilting dangerously and Melville was hovering anxiously by her arm with a napkin lest she stain the rug. "I mean, I've already been married, but he won't even ask me. He just seems to think it's fine to continue on like this – forever!"

Snape scowled and relaxed. He figured if she was talking about her love life, then she wasn't talking about his. Although it was only a matter of time before she was. "Well," he said, holding his wine glass up to the firelight and checked the body of the red, "it has been a long time, Minerva. Perhaps he believes in the old adage, if it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"I'll give him 'broke'," she grumbled and Snape couldn't help but laugh. He had been born and raised in this house and Minerva McGonagall was the first real houseguest he'd ever had. That is if you didn't include Lucius, the son his Father wished he'd had. It felt alien to sit in his lounge room with a friend and a glass of wine. Minerva had curled her feet up under her and was nestled into his Father's old chair. He had never been able to see that chair as a thing of comfort. He had seen his Father sit in it for far too long. It was old and threadbare. His family, like so many Purebloods, came from countless generations of Wizards who used the Ministry as a ruse but ruled the Wizarding World behind closed doors using their blood as their claim to power. Their money was gone, the sofas were threadbare and their jackets were tatty but his grandfather wore them, so it was alright. It was no wonder Severus was such a disappointment. He saw the family for what it really was.

Looking at Minerva curled in that chair, all wrapped in red velvet and glowing in the firelight, he could almost imagine the house being full of light. Almost. He just had to learn how to look a little deeper.

"And of course," Minerva continued, "he won't marry me, but he still expects me to spread my…"

"Minerva!" He held his hand up quickly, "that's quite enough information, I assure you." The last thing Severus needed to know was that a man in his hundreds was enjoying a more fulfilling sex life than he was. He wondered how Hermione would look curled in that chair. All dressed in red velvet. Her hair falling wild around her shoulders, her eyes wide and dark with passion. His cock stirred and the pleasant tendrils of his drunk invaded his brain. He allowed himself to be lulled into a fantasy that this house was somewhere good, that his Father had been a kindly man and that sex with Hermione was a thing he could possibly have.

Snape found himself smiling stupidly at his waking dream. He could thank the case of excellent Merlot that Minerva had brought with her. He knew he was getting drunk. He knew it because he was relaxing and instead of being grateful for being away from Hermione, he was getting wistful and wishing she was here. Then again, who was he kidding? He had been wishing she was here with him since he arrived that morning. He was relaxing, every muscle started to unknot. He should write to her; tell her where he was. Ask her to their party. Just get her here so he could bury his face in her hair.

He would miss getting her letter in the morning. He'd given the address to the owlery, but he was fairly certain she would be pissed off when she realized that he had gone away. It had seemed a good idea not to tell her, a good way of putting her off. But as the day progressed he had realized he really didn't want to put her off. He liked getting letters from her, he liked feeling that kind of emotion. He'd responded to it in kind. He couldn't help it, she roused in him a desire he had never felt before.

While he was slowly sinking into a drunken state, he was well aware that Minerva was well and truly there. She had gone through her giggly phase and was now entrenched in her sloppy, slurring, Albus is a bastard phase.

Snape smiled, had he been anywhere else, if Hermione had been here, he could almost consider himself happy.

Minerva tilted her head back and drained her glass and it filled up instantly. Damn that House Elf was good. He'd forgotten just how convenient it was to have them running around the house. Melville had resumed napkin watch. Snape was tempted to tell him not to worry. The rug was ancient and not of a particularly good quality. They should just throw it out.

"So," Minerva leveled her drunken gaze at him, "tell me about Miss Hermione Granger."

He closed his eyes, he knew it would come. It had no doubt been part of her plan. Get him drunk, make him relax, then move in for the kill. He laughed – and he couldn't believe he laughed. "What do you want to know about Miss Hermione Granger?" he asked, amused to find he would probably tell her anything she wanted to know. He wondered just how much he'd had to drink. Obviously he was not just starting to get drunk, he was there, in the zone.

The fireplace roared into life and they both jumped, dousing the rug and the unfortunate Melville in wine. The Elf muttered something and headed down to the kitchens for the cleaning salts. Dumbledore's head was floating in the fire.

"Albus!" Minerva giggled, "we were just talking about you."

Dumbledore didn't reply at first and they instantly knew that something was wrong. Normally he would make some kind of quip at Minerva's expense and they would trade insults back and forth before Albus got down to business. Not so now. Now he was silent. There was no twinkle in his eye. He looked fearsome and stern and alarmingly old.

"What's wrong Albus?" Minerva asked, her voice was tinged with a sort of panic. She had not seen him look this way since the war, she had never wanted to see him look this way again. "Has something happened."

"Minerva, Severus," Dumbledore's voice was strained. He sounded shocked. "There has been an incident at the school. I need you to go to Malfoy Manor. I'm sending Poppy to you."

**********************************************************

Harry and Draco lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, bathed in sweat and panting lightly. The reek of sex pervaded the room. A strange smell of sweat and semen and musky arousal.

Oh fucking hell, Harry thought desperately, I told him I love him, how fucking stupid could I get?

Oh you fucking idiot, Draco thought desperately, why didn't you say something, anything! He just told you that he loves you and you didn't say anything. You big fucking dolt.

Then the same thought hit them like a bolt of lightening. The sex had been incredible. Mind fucking blowing, in-fucking-credible.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked at last, knowing that he had to tend his lover, seeing as he had just pounded pretty damn hard into Harry's body and he would be amazed if the poor guy could still walk.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, "I'm ok."

At the sound of Harry's voice, Draco felt emotion wash over him and he rolled to kiss Harry, lovingly caressing Harry's face with his sensitive fingers.

"Did I hurt you baby?"

"No," Harry lied. Not unless you count not saying anything at all when I told you I loved you.

"You're so beautiful," Draco whispered, stroking Harry's cheek.

Yeah, but you don't love me now, do you? "Not as beautiful as you," Harry replied.

They kissed deeply, Harry realizing that he was going to have to take comfort from loving gestures and the warmth of Draco's arms and kisses. It was not hard to do. Draco's body was willing, his touch more that making up for any words left unsaid. Still, Harry wished he'd said something. Even if it was just to say that Draco liked him very much. He relaxed into the kiss, seeking Draco's tongue with his own.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Draco lifted his head and frowned. He sat up, muttering "Lumos" as he did so. The room was bathed in a soft light and Draco reached for his bathrobe before demanding whom ever it was enter. The door opened and the uneasy face of a House Elf peered into the room.

One thing Harry had noticed, the House Elves, with the exception of the imperious Non, were terrified of their Master. Harry wondered exactly how Draco would be treating them if he wasn't on his best behavior for Harry. He watched as Draco glared at the Elf impatiently, and the Elf looked back with it's terrified, orb like eyes.

"Well?" Draco snapped, "What do you want?"

"M-m-master, if you please, Master Draco, Sir, M-Mr Harry Potter has a visitor."

Harry turned the glare to Harry, "are you expecting anyone?"

"No," Harry sat up himself, "only you and Hermione know I'm here."

"Who is it?" Draco demanded.

"A girl, Master Draco Sir, Posie didn't get her name. She has been hurt Sir, She asked for Harry Potter."

Harry and Draco exchanged looks. It had to be Hermione. But hurt? How?

"Is she hurt badly," Draco asked, hesitating before he spoke. The Elf looked even more frightened, mistaking Draco's hesitant tone for a slow building anger. She held up her long fingered hands, covered in Hermione's blood.

Harry was suddenly scrambling to find clothes. He barely managed to pull a pair of Draco's pajama pants on before he was out the door and running for the stairs. Draco, the more prudent and self conscious of them, found another pair of pajama pants, belted his dressing gown and grabbed his wand before setting out after Harry. The House Elf struggled to keep pace before remembering that she had the advantage of being able to Apparate around the house. In the end she beat the boys by a full ten seconds.

****************************************************

Professor's Snape and McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had arrived at Malfoy Manor only minutes after Harry and Draco had found Hermione. Madam Pomfrey, in her usual brisk manner, had taken charge with ease and authority. Within seconds a stretcher had been conjured and Hermione placed gently on it. The boys had then taken her upstairs and placed her in Draco's bed. Draco had then appointed two House Elves to assist Madam Pomfrey with anything she needed and they had been ushered from the room.

Harry was pacing the lounge. He had been shivering with cold until Minerva lit the fire. Then Draco had found him a jumper to cover the fact that he was half naked. Snape was staring out of the window in stony silence. Draco gnawed at his thumbnail and Minerva sat staring into the fireplace as if expecting Dumbledore to appear there at any moment. It was evident to all four of them that Viktor Krum really did not have a long time to live. A matter of days, weeks perhaps, or if he was lucky, months. Certainly less than a year. What was uncertain was who would get him first, Harry or Snape.

Harry's tactic was to strike while the iron was hot, while his anger was so great that he could just murder a man. Snape worked better with stealth. He knew full well that Krum had managed to flee and that by the time Potter found him, his rage would have subsided and he would think twice about killing him. Not so for Snape. He would track him down and he would slowly, painfully, take Krum apart, piece by rotten Bulgarian piece.

Then there was what they had walked into. Both Snape and McGonagall were a little taken aback. They had arrived to find Harry picking Hermione up from the floor; he was still covered in her blood. The first question to almost race from both of them was simple; what in hell was Harry Potter doing at Malfoy Manor, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants that were obviously not his own – the monogrammed 'D' on the back pocket being the biggest clue as to who did own them. Now that Poppy was upstairs taking care of Hermione and they had to wait, they were able to contemplate the question.

They both knew what it looked like. Both were perfectly capable of putting two and two together and coming up with 'Malfoy's fucking Potter.' What they didn't like was that they were most probably accurate. Snape could almost hear Narcissa turning in her grave.

Snape had no problem with Draco's sexual choices. Bisexuality had been a practice amongst Purebloods for centuries. Lucius had both male and female lovers that Snape knew of, and with Draco; the apple never fell far from the tree. What did alarm Snape was Draco's choice of Potter as a lover. Harry Potter was wholly inappropriate and certainly never a choice Draco would have made had Lucius been around to stop it.

But Lucius wasn't around. Lucius was a dribbling idiot in a glass box.

The wheel of Snape's mind spun again as Potter paced close to him. Hermione. His beautiful Hermione. He was going to kill Krum.

"I can't stand this." Harry stopped suddenly in the centre of the room. "We're just sitting here while that bastard is getting away."

"He is not going to get away with this, Harry," Minerva said patiently, "Professor Dumbledore will find him and when he does he will deal with him."

"Deal with him how?" Harry demanded, "he'll probably go to Azkaban for a few months and that will be it."

"Dumbledore will ensure that the punishment fits the crime."

"And how is he going to do that? Have Krum beaten to a pulp and shove a broom up his arse?"

"Well, obviously not," Minerva suppressed a smile, "but that is very inventive Mr. Potter."

"Perhaps," said Snape silkily, turning from the window and eyeing Harry with a slightly disdainful gaze, "you should stop your pacing and turn your manifold talents to figuring out how you might possible help the Headmaster locate Krum."

Harry turned on him, glaring hatefully at the Potions Master. "Don't you fucking talk, you should be the one out there looking for the bastard, or don't you care about her at all?"

"I don't think my feelings on the matter are particularly important, Potter."

"Oh really? Well I beg to differ, Professor, if it wasn't for you, Hermione wouldn't be in this mess!"

Snape's eye's blazed and his complexion paled a little. "I fail to see how Mr. Krum suddenly deciding that he is a psychotic madman and attacking Hermi…Miss Granger, is my fault."

"If it wasn't for you leading her on she wouldn't have stayed at Hogwarts alone," Harry replied hotly. "She would have been here and safe."

"Perhaps," Snape sneered, casting his glare over both boys, "given your obvious intentions for these holidays, she felt uncomfortable accompanying you."

"Don't you fucking try and bring this back on us!" Draco stepped forward, his face flushed as he glared at his godfather. "You could have told her you were going away, you know how she feels about you and she isn't the kind of person to let a flight of fancy take her away. I know you encouraged her. I saw you, remember? But you didn't tell her did you? You just left her there. You deserted her, proving once again the kind of 'friend' you are. You have a habit of destroying your friends don't you Uncle Severus? Why should this time be any different?"

Harry looked from Draco to Snape and threw in his two sickles worth, "Yeah, you left her there alone with him!"

Snape paled further, a muscle worked in his cheek and Harry was certain he saw something that could be tears film over Snape's eyes. He didn't cry though. He opened his mouth as if to say something, some remark or an excuse, but nothing came out. His lip quivered for a fraction of a second and then his face hardened. He sailed across the room, collecting his traveling cloak, and stalked out of their sight.

Harry turned away from his retreating form, hugging himself tight and Draco bowed his head. Minerva picked herself up and ran after Snape.

"Severus!" Minerva called desperately, "Severus, wait!"

He stopped, more from the knowledge that Minerva shouldn't be running and he didn't want her to fall over on the marble floor. "What?" he demanded, he was in no mood to talk, he just wanted to get out of this house. He should never have come here.

"Don't just storm off," Minerva caught her breath, her legs felt weak under her. "They are angry and upset and looking to appropriate blame where ever they can. That's all."

"That's all? Minerva, I have never heard a truer word spoke in my life. They are right, I did leave her there. I knew I should tell her I was going, but I didn't."

"Yes, but you didn't think she was going to stay there for you did you?"

"What I think is patiently obvious is that I didn't think at all."

"This isn't your fault Severus."

"I don't think Hermione is going to see it that way."

Minerva looked around desperately. She wanted to hug him. He looked hopeless and angry. He looked frightening. "Come back into the lounge," she said, "you should wait and make sure she is alright."

"I am sure you are more than capable of doing that, Minerva."

"She might want to know you are here."

"I doubt it." He scowled and turned away, pulling his cloak on as he did so. "I will see you in the morning, back at the Fenn."

Minerva swallowed, "Are you going back there now."

"Not right away," He was staring longingly at the door.

"Then where are you going now?"

He turned back to her and smiled grimly, "to find Krum."

********************************************

"Ronald Weasley, is that a Bertie Botts Bean that you have shoved up your nose?"

Exactly how the bean had found it's way up his left nostril, Ron could not recall, only that it had been found there. His recollections of his early childhood were sparse, he could not think back too far before everything became a blank. This one, and he was certain that it was a memory not a dream, came back now with clarity as he trudged through the frozen night to the house.

"You're a silly git," Charlie laughed and tilted Ron's chin back to get a better look up his baby brother's nose. He sat Ron up on to the low stone wall of the pig pen and knelt in the snow, trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to get the sweet out of there.

"Don't tell mum!" Ron had squeaked and had tried to blow the offending bean out. He only succeeded in covering his top lip in snot. Charlie shook his head in disgust and wiped Ron's nose and lip with a handkerchief. Eventually he struck on the idea of using his wand to gently heat the bean until it became sticky and pliable, holding the handkerchief up to Ron's nose he instructed the boy to blow. The bean came out in a bright sticky red mess.

Ron eagerly looked at the contents of the linen square, saw the red and mistook it instantly for blood and began to wail. Charlie had laughed, lifted the four year old into his arms and carried him inside to the warmth of the Christmas fire.

If only Ron had kept to the back of the battlefield that last day, as Dumbledore had told him to, if only he hadn't gone running to the front, so stupidly eager to prove himself. If he'd stayed where he was supposed to he might have been there to protect his brother, to save him from the blond Death Eater who had swooped from the sky and taken his head clean off his shoulders.

As Ron pushed the door to the Burrow open, tears streaked down his cheeks.

It was only now, when Charlie lay in some wet patch of earth, did Ron fully appreciate what his brother had done for him. He had been Ron's protector, the savior from the twin's tormenting, the only one who listened to him as though he had something of value to say, the best Seeker in Gryffindor history and Ron's personal hero. When Charlie had left the family home and went to Romania to work, Ron had been heartbroken. He had thrown a tantrum, said things he didn't mean, he had been a child. If only he'd had a chance to tell Charlie just how important he had been, but it was too late now. He only could only add it to his ever growing list of regrets.

Charlie would have been ashamed of Ron now. Charlie would never betray his brother as Ron had.

Ron climbed the stairs, avoiding the creaks and groans of the old floor boards, and carried his burden of guilt to his bed. He had no idea why this was happening. Why Angelina had chosen him or why he was powerless to resist her. Why had he allowed her to fill his veins with some foul drug that sapped his energy and made him euphoric? His only consolation was that whatever she had pumped into him was no doubt pure and clean and not some strange and filthy concoction that Muggles came up with. He knew that it was a growing practice amongst Wizard kind to take plants traditionally used for healing and make drugs from them. It had once been considered beneath them, Purebloods considered such drugs a Muggle weakness. But since Voldemorts fall, there were few magical folk with a pure lineage left.

Ron slumped on his bed and closed his eyes. His arm ached where she had slid the needle into his vein and he didn't want to look about the room. He knew where his eye would settle, and he just didn't want to see the Contract yet. He opened his eyes and whispered for light.

The rose bud beside his name was small and yellow and once again tinged with brown. He looked away and felt tears sting his eyes. There was no point crying over it. If he hated it so much he should never have allowed it to happen. He angrily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stared at Harry and Hermione's names. His heart skipped a beat.

Harry had a rose. Full and bursting and startlingly bright. It was perfect red, and for a moment Ron was certain he could smell the scent of a rose garden. So it was over, for Harry at least. He felt a bitterness fill his heart. Once again, Harry Potter was saved from a hideous fate. Ron wouldn't be surprised if it turned out that Dumbledore had arranged the perfect girl to just come along and be there for Harry. Couldn't have the hero of the Wizarding World covered in boils now could we?

He looked over Hermione's rose buds. A couple looked as though they had died and were dripping what could have been blood. Probably because she got them with that filthy Malfoy shit. Ron had loved Hermione, once upon a time and in his own foolish way. Now she was truly rolling in the dirt with Malfoy. Ferret. Of all people. She knew full well what the Malfoy's had done. She knew the entire clan was bitter, twisted and evil. She knew Lucius had been the Death Eater who had descended from the sky and killed Ron's beloved brother. She knew all of those things and yet she still did this. It was like throwing Charlie's death in his face.

Now Harry was coming to the ferrets aid as well. At first Ron had suspected the Imperius curse, but eventually dismissed it. Harry was renowned for his ability to resist them. Which meant that not only was Hermione willingly fucking around with the little shit – but Harry was willingly standing up for him!

All of which Ron saw as the ultimate act of betrayal.

He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back into the pillows. He felt sick, he felt the urge to vomit but there was nothing left in his stomach. He wondered how it was that now the war was over and his life was supposed to be wonderful, it felt so much like shit.

Please go to Part 2


	20. And so this is Christmas Part 2

**Chapter 10- Part 2**

Snape held a small hand mirror flat on his palm and poured a thick mercury solution over its surface. He hoped that he was closer to Krum than Dumbledore was. Not that it would really matter. Snape knew he had the advantage. It was one of the reasons he had been so indispensable to the old man during the war. Snape could find people. Darkness calls to darkness and Snape was full of shadows. Still, Dumbledore had a few hours head start, and he had been there when Krum had Apparated, which meant he had a slip stream he might be able to trace.

Snape stilled his thoughts and pictured Krum clearly in his minds eye. He looked down at the mirror with its swirling solution.

"Show me" he whispered and the mercury swirled and formed an arrow. He smiled grimly and followed it.

Krum had Apparated from Scotland, but he certainly hadn't left the United Kingdom. Snape doubted he would return to Bulgaria unless he was forced to. Fortunately for Snape (although perhaps not for his quarry), Krum had moved directly to England; Derbyshire to be precise. The Mirror showed Snape the way, and once he was in the same county, the way became clear and easy.

The mirror led him on a twisted and bitter path, along well used Muggle roads, across vast fields and along pathways hidden to all but Wizard kind. His hair blew wild in the cold night air. His hands and cloak became tinged with white frost from the speed of the broom through the winter's night. He flew high enough not to be seen from the ground, but low enough to know where he was going. Soon the landscape to the left and right of him became little more than a blur and he focused on the mirror to guide him towards his quarry.

After a number of hours it was close to dawn and the mercury in the mirror began to swirl again and finally it stilled. Snape set himself down in a narrow lane between two stone walls. The moon was clear and he walked quickly along the path, searching for a place that Krum would hide. Rounding a bend the path opened out into a field and a short distance away he saw a single light and could make out an isolated dwelling.

He made for the cottage, crossing a stile and dashing across the muddy field. When he was within twenty yards of the house he stopped and waited. There was no sign of movement from within or out. The cottage was small, recently white washed and with it's thatched roof seemed in good repair. It looked peaceful and ordinary, though a thick shrubbery hid much of it from view. It was dark and silent, save for the one lit window. Snape approached the house with stealth and caution.

He didn't bother to knock. If he had the wrong house and there were a family of unsuspecting Muggles inside, it would be a simple enough exercise to Obliviate their memories and leave. He threw the door open and stepped inside. His eyes took in everything at once. Krum was sitting at a small wooden table, most of the way through a bottle of whiskey, staring back at him in stunned surprise. His robes were filthy, as though he had fallen over in the field on his way to the cottage. Snape wondered for a split second just who owned this place. Then Krum stood shakily, holding the edge of the table for support.

For a moment, Krum seemed to relax, as though he had expected something worse than Snape to arrive. Perhaps he had expected Potter. They stared at each other, each aware for a moment of how similar they were. Krum swayed on the spot and assessed the man who had come. They were both dressed in black, black hair, black eyes. Both tall and lean, their bodies taut, their gaunt faces sneered, mirroring each other.

"So, Dumbledore couldn't come himself" Krum slurred, "the little Mudblood slut mustn't have been worth much to him."

Snape's face twisted in rage and he felt himself begin to shake.

"Come now, Professor, you are not usually so mute." Krum grinned, attempting to be eloquent in his drunken state, "Aren't you going to give me the benefit of your opinion; tell me where I went wrong. I can assure you, Miss Granger never hesitated in giving me her opinion, even if she did scream it into my fucking ear."

"I didn't think you were interested in Miss Granger's opinion." Snape raked his eyes disdainfully over Krum, "I thought you were far more interested in beating her to a bloody pulp."

"Well," Krum laughed, "I would have preferred that she spread her legs sweetly for me, but she likes it rough, and I aim to please."

Snape's hands balled into tight fists, his complexion changed from pale to red in a moment.

"You should have heard her," Krum was laughing again, "she squealed like a stuck pig."

Snape threw himself at Krum. His hands went for the Bulgarian's throat, clutching, squeezing. Krum flailed at him, fists landing wherever he could reach. It all happened so fast that Krum could do nothing but fall back and start hitting out in defense. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't a physical assault. Wizards didn't work this way. Wizards used wands. But Snape wasn't thinking like a Wizard or a Slytherin or anything of the sort. He was thinking like a man and at that moment, he just wanted to tear the bastard apart with his bare hands.

Krum's flailing eventually broke Snape's hold and they fell with a crash into the hearth, still scuffling, arms and legs lashing out. Snape pinned Krum down, taking great pleasure in landing three good punches into the drunken mans face, before slipping a hand into the filthy robes and snatching his wand. He pushed himself up, pointing both wands at Krum.

"What do you care?" Krum spat out a clot of blood from his mouth, "she's just some Mudblood know it all student. You hate them. I know you do, Karkaroff told me."

Snape pointed the wands dangerously. "Don't you ever speak of her, don't you say a word about her," he cried, spittle flying from his mouth at Krum, his voice sounded suspiciously like a sob wrenched from deep in his gut.

Krum burst into laughter, "You like her? You have a thing for the virtuous Miss Granger?" He struggled to sit upright, "What makes you think she would want a greasy old fuck like you?"

Snape paled, breathing heavy. A look that was akin to grief masked his face.

Realization dawned on Krum and he laughed harder. "Oh! Oh I see. So you've already tasted that particular pie. You're the bastard who stole her from me." He smiled horribly, "I can't say I commend her taste, but it looks like I roughed up your bit of crumpet."

Krum's laughing features soon twisted into agony and a sound rent the air like that of tearing fabric. A long strip of flesh and robes tore from Krum's thigh. His eyes widened as he stared at the long red wound in disbelief.

"Abripio Vestitus"

Krum's robes flew from his body, leaving him in just his underwear, and another strip of flesh tore from his thigh. He screamed, desperately trying to stop the progress of the torn flesh. It did little good, the skin came away under his hand, taking traces of tendon and muscle fibers with it. He turned his face wildly to Snape, looked into Snapes eyes and suddenly understood the true meaning of darkness. Karkaroff had told him year before that the Hogwarts Potions Master had been a Death Eater and an evil one at that. He hadn't believed it. Snape had seemed bitter and twisted to be sure, but it was obvious that he was Dumbledore's right hand man; hardly a Death Eater.

Now he knew it was true. Snape's black eyes seemed like bottomless pits, reflecting nothing but Krum's own terrified face. Snape's mouth curled into a cruel smile. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Snape said silkily, "but from what I hear, you like a little pain."

Another strip of flesh tore away and Krum scrambled backwards, screaming in pain. He had to get out, get away from this place, if he didn't, Snape would flay him alive. He clawed his way up the hearth until he was standing and began to move, crashing through the door and running blindly through the field towards the forest.

Snape turned and watched him go, his eyes shone with a malicious joy. "Don't run!" he called laughing, "If you run it only makes it worse!"

But still Krum ran, unaware of his direction, gasping for breath in the heavy wet air. Branches snagged his limbs, scarping across the raw flesh of his leg. He stumbled over a dead tree and crashed to the ground and Snape bore down on him, seemingly from the sky.

"Now don't tell me you're scared Krum." Snape chuckled darkly, "don't tell me you can't fend off someone who isn't a wandless young witch half your size?"

Krum was mute with terror, but he soon found his voice as his scream tore through the air and the skin of his right arm came away like a pale sleeve. Snape's wand twitched and pointed at Krum's chest, another strip of flesh removed itself. The pain was intense, the dirt and leaves from the ground, the very air that swelled around his body, played havoc on the now raw flesh and nerves.

"P-please," Krum sobbed "please, I vill go to Azkaban, just please, stop this."

"Azkaban?" Snape laughed with mock surprise, "I never planned for you to go to Azkaban."

"You, you didn't?" Krum yelped.

"Oh Gods no! I planned to kill you in the slowest and most painful way possible." He chuckled, "and I bet you were grateful when you saw it was me standing there in that door way and not Potter." He pointed his wand at Krum's groin and grinned, "I don't think you'll be needing that."

Krum screamed as flesh and muscle and nerves tore and detached. In horror he ventured to look at the gaping wound where his cock had been, he could see soft white orbs hanging slackly against his legs attached to what could be bloodied strings and he knew they were his balls, nude and hideous when devoid of his scrotum. Snape laughed hard and bitter. Moving the wand again, he wondered what he could remove next.

"SEVERUS!"

Snape spun on his heel and glared at Dumbledore.

"Don't do this, Severus."

Snape smiled sheepishly. "Give me five more minutes Albus, that's all I ask."

"You need to go home. Minerva is waiting for you…and Hermione needs you to be there, not in Azkaban."

Snape shrugged unconcerned and turned back to Krum, watching him struggling and bleeding on the ground. Moving quickly Snape kicked him hard in the belly, then again in the gaping wound of Krum's groin. Dumbledore looked away as Snape wiped some gore from the toe of his boot on Krum's face.

"Let me take him," Dumbledore said gently, "he will be punished."

Snape seemed unwilling to give up his prey. Dumbledore hadn't seen him like this for a good many years.

"He will be punished," Dumbledore removed Krum's wand from Snape's hand.

"He deserves this," Snape muttered.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "but it doesn't make it right."

Snape really didn't care about right and wrong, he wanted Krum dead.

But it wouldn't happen tonight.

Snape stepped backwards and nodded sharply at Dumbledore. The sky was turning grey, the dawn was coming. Soon it would be daylight and Minerva would be waiting for him with news. He bowed his head, picked up his broom and Apparated.

*********************************************

Early Christmas morning, Hermione blinked her eyes open, grimaced and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. There were no cobwebs up there, none of Lavender's pretty ornaments, only cold speckles of gray dawn light through the trees. Her body throbbed with a dull ache, but she felt whole and rested and safe. What ever Madam Pomfrey had given her was making her feel a little high, almost euphoric and for a moment she felt a floating kind of giddiness as she realized she was in a strange bed.

Then slowly the world fell in to place around her.

She was at Malfoy Manor; she had been attacked and had come here. Harry and Draco had picked her up, there had been a House Elf, and other people had come, she was sure of it. Madam Pomfrey had been there. She drew a deep breath that made her ribs ache a little. Beneath her she could feel the softness of a mattress, over her were the weight of blankets and something else, a hand, on her stomach. She became slowly aware of deep regular breathing on either side of her and the warmth of skin. She looked at either side of her body and realized that she was lying between Harry and Draco and had just woken up in the middle of many a Hogwarts student's ultimate fantasy.

Harry smelled like his usual self and it was his hand curled loosely on her stomach. In sleep he looked young and innocent, his messy hair a little dirty and lying dark and inky on his pillow. It was getting long now, she hadn't really noticed it before. He was shirtless, she could see smears of blood, her blood, and a light dusting of hair across his chest. She wondered just when it was that he had gone from the boy she knew to the man lying beside her. On her other side Draco was over dressed for sleep. Pajamas, a t-shirt and a heavy dressing gown, His arms were folded defensively around him. Neither looked as though they were sleeping particularly peacefully. The room was cold and gray in the half light of morning and Harry shivered. Hermione pulled the blankets up over his shoulder.

She wondered for a moment what had actually gotten her through the night. Was it their presence beside her or a sleeping draught? What would get her through the nights to come? Would she become like so many, relying on potions and draughts to forget everything that had happened? She had thought herself fortunate to come through the war with so few emotional scars, was that to be undone now with this one violent act? Krum had tried to destroy her physically and he had failed. She was here, alive, awake and whole. But she could feel the darkness in her mind. Who was going to heal that?

She carefully climbed over Draco and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Even in the gray light she could see that this was a beautiful room. She was safe here. She would just have to keep repeating that to herself. The wooden floor was cold beneath her feet and she stood up slowly, easing her weight off the bed, testing her own strength. Her muscles ached, but they did not cry out in pain. It was as though the pain had been dulled for her, no doubt through some concoction of the Medi-Witch. She padded across the room to the window and looked out over the countryside to take in just where she was.

There was something that looked like an orange grove down below the terraced garden. Beyond that, in the dawn light, rising from the mist of a small valley she could see a house. It was a strange combination between a fairytale house and a miniature castle. All turrets and towers on a tiny frame. It was obviously a Wizard's house; it looked far to enchanted to have been built by a Muggle. She wondered if it was part of the estate, a strange Malfoy idea of a retreat. She splayed her hand on the glass and pressed her forehead to the cool glass.

She heard movement in the bed and turned. Draco was awake and sitting up. He had pulled the covers back from Harry and was lightly tracing the curve of Harry's body with his fingertips. He then turned his head and saw her watching him, and smiled. Gently he drew the blankets back over Harry's form and climbed from the bed, coming to the window and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He dug his sharp chin into her shoulder and drew her into his warmth.

"Hi," she whispered quietly.

"How do you feel?" he asked, turning his head a little and pressing a kiss to the side of her throat.

"I'm alright," she said, she sounded weary, "alive." She shivered and he held her closer. Outside the sun had finally broken the horizon and the light outside was changing, becoming brighter, illuminating the snow covered country side and making it beautiful. A thin stream of smoke began to unfurl from one of the chimneys of the house in the little valley. "Does someone live there?" she asked Draco who looked in the direction of the house and smiled.

"Yes, that's the Fenn. It's the Snape family home."

"Professor Snape?"

"Yeah. It's been in his family for a long time."

"So that's where he lives then." She said it more to herself than Draco.

"Not always. He's there at the moment, but he never really went there when I was growing up. My Dad said once that Snape hated the place. I don't know why, I used to sneak down there sometimes and it is really very nice…"

"He's there at the moment?' She frowned, so she should have come with Harry and Draco all along.

"Yes," Draco stoked her arms, "he came here last night with Pomfrey and McGonagall. Don't you remember?"

"No," she shook her head sadly, "I only remember Madam Pomfrey."

Had she come with Harry and Draco she would have been close to him and she would have been safe. None of the horror of the previous night would have happened at all. But she hadn't known he would be there. He hadn't given her that choice. "He didn't tell me he wouldn't be at Hogwarts," she said bitterly, "he didn't tell me he was going away."

"I know." Draco kissed her throat again, "we already had words with him about that."

"You fought?" She tensed and Draco soothed her gently.

"Not exactly a fight. We just told him what a prick he was and he left."

"Was he upset?" Oh Gods, please let him be upset.

Draco closed his eyes. "You know Snape, he's pretty hard to read." He paused. "But yeah, he was upset."

Harry moved in the bed and they both turned. He had rolled onto his back and was still sound asleep under the velvet covers.

"I should wake him up," Draco said. Hermione could hear the affection in his voice, he sounded almost entranced. She remembered the way he had traced Harry's body with his finger tips, the look on his face had been that of wonder. "Once he falls asleep he's almost impossible to wake up."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "That's because he spent so many years being too afraid to sleep that he is making up for it now."

Draco dropped his arms from around her and moved towards the bed. For a moment Hermione was certain that he was going to climb into the bed and devour Harry whole. He stopped however, and turned back to Hermione. He smiled helplessly. "I…" he looked back to Harry. The covers had slipped down again, and in the brightening room Draco could see a small pink nipple waiting to be licked. He turned back to Hermione who was staring at him with a small amused smile on her face.

"Perhaps," Hermione said, "I should take a bath. If you could show me where the bathroom is."

"Um, sure. I'll wake Harry up while you're in the bath. It's Christmas after all, we should be opening presents."

Hermione was fairly certain that Draco would be enjoying some kind of Christmas cheer, just as soon as she was out of the room. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the bathroom.

*************************************************

"Hey, come on Potter, wake up!"

Harry stirred under the hands shaking him awake. Trying to open his eyes desperately. "Wha..?"

Draco kissed him, smothering his mouth, licking at his lips. Harry moaned low into Draco's throat and his hands automatically came up to caress Draco's body, disappointed to find him still fully clothed. He slid his hands under Draco's T-shirt and slid them up the Draco's hot flesh. He could get used to being woken up this way. He could get used to having this body on top of him, urgently seeking access.

"Where..?" Harry's brain clicked in to place, the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. He pushed Draco's mouth aside for a moment. "Where's Hermione?"

Draco struggled with the draw string on Harry's pants, mumbling, "in the bath," as he did so.

Harry struggled out from under Draco and sat up. Draco looked flushed and a little frustrated at being thrown off. "Is she ok?"

Draco sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "She seems alright. A little quiet, but she's ok." He grinned and moved across the bed to Harry. "But she's having a bath right now, which means we have plenty of time for some fun." He covered Harry's mouth again and sucked Harry's tongue deep into his throat. Harry whimpered, relishing the taste and his hand came up to cup Draco's head. Then he thought, they shouldn't leave Hermione alone yet. He couldn't help but remember Draco's story of Pansy Parkinson. He pushed Draco back again.

"Maybe I should go and check on her."

"She's fine!" Draco said, exasperated, "she just wanted to have a bath." He reached forward and caressed Harry's hard cock. "Feels like you want some attention."

Harry scuttled off the bed, away from Draco's wandering fingers. "Don't you think of anything other than sex? I want to make sure Hermione is alright."

Draco's eyes blazed, "well I don't think she is going to be too happy with you if you burst in on her in the bath."

Harry glared at him and stormed out of the room.

Draco crossed his legs and let his head drop into his hands. He absently massaged his temples. It would have been prudent perhaps to have come home for Christmas alone. He looked about the room which was beginning to lighten rapidly. His room. His childhood room.

Silently he climbed from the bed and padded across the floor to a door that Harry had mistakenly believed to be a closet. It wasn't. It was the door that led to his parent's room. Or more accurately, his Fathers room, although his Mother slept there more often than not. Every year, he would go in there on Christmas morning and force them to get up, demanding presents, activity, attention. Even when he was too old to do so, he still went. The Christmas morning visit was about forcing them out of bed to stumble sleepily to the lounge whilst their excited son ran circles around them. Then last year he had sat cross legged on the end of the bed while Non brought them all coffee and pastries and they had talked for hours. Perhaps they had known it would be the last Christmas. He hadn't realized. If he had he would have memorized the conversation. It was lost now. As lost as his childhood.

He turned the door knob and pushed the door open. The room was dark and cold. There had been no fire in this room for a long time. The air smelled stale. He wondered why he was doing this. Perhaps he was torturing himself with the restless ghosts of the house.

He quickly went to the windows and drew open the curtains, allowing light to flood the chamber and turned to the bed.

The room was silent and still, the bed empty. Everything was as it had been on the last day that Lucius Malfoy had left the house. There was no dust, everything was clean and tidy, awaiting the Masters return. Draco climbed over the bed, pulling the dove gray satin bed cover down and hoping against hope that the Elves hadn't changed the sheets. He lay down, head on his Fathers pillow and inhaled. It was there, the scent of his Father's hair, the shampoo he used, the soap, sleep and skin. His Fathers scent, as unique as a fingerprint, faint but still there. He inhaled deeply, hugging the pillow to him, and dissolved into silent aching tears.

*******************************************

Minerva awoke with darkness still swirling around her. It was early, and considering that she had only climbed into bed two hours before, she had reasonably expected to still be asleep. There was a sound in the hall, too heavy to be one of the House Elves. She wrapped a heavy tartan dressing gown around herself and stepped into the hallway to investigate.

Snape walked down the hall, silhouetted against the window.

"Severus?" She hesitated, his face was shadowed and he stopped, stood silent in the early morning light.

Hearing the fear in her voice he answered her, "It's alright Minerva, I didn't kill him."

Minerva breathed with relief. "Oh thank the Gods."

"Thank the Gods?" He sneered. "The world would be a better place without the likes of Viktor Krum. I should have just killed him."

"If it is any consolation, I'm glad you didn't." She smiled, tried to play with him, "I don't think my party would have been much of a hit with you locked in Azkaban."

He smiled miserably, "Don't fret Minerva, I would have let you have it here regardless."

She rushed down the hall to him, "It wouldn't have been the same without you."

He stared at her in the half light. Dumbledore's mistress. He had no idea why she liked him. He was a miserable old sod and she was like sunlight in his world. Forcing him to laugh when he really wanted to enjoy his misery. He smiled, realizing for the first time that he actually had a best friend.

Dumbledore really should marry her.

"Is Hermione alright?" he asked. It was the first time he had called her by her first name in front of anyone.

"She's fine. The boys are staying with her tonight and Poppy has given her a relaxant to help dull everything. Krum didn't rape her, it seems he ejaculated before he could manage it."

Relief rushed through him as warm and liquid as mulled wine. At least the bastard hadn't violated her totally, at least she had been able to save something for her own. Snape wanted desperately to go to her, to hold her tight in his arms, to try and soothe her. He was probably the last person she wanted to see. He felt a sob rise in his throat and was unable to stop it coming out.

Minerva quickly, carefully caressed his cheek. Calming him down. "Shhh," she whispered, "It's over, she is safe now." His face was cold and she wondered how far he had traveled that night. "You're cold," she said in a motherly fashion.

"I'm always cold."

"You should go and have a hot bath and get some sleep."

He smiled in spite of himself. She caressed his cheek again and absently he kissed her palm.

"Have you anything to help you sleep? I have some Dreamless Sleep potion in my room." She smiled, wanting to hug him. He seemed so dejected.

"I'm a Potions Master Minerva, I have any number of things to help me sleep."

"Then perhaps you should take something, sleep the day away."

"What about you?"

She smiled mischievously, "Albus is coming to spend Christmas with me, it seems he misjudged his ability to live without me. I think you should get some sleep, and then this evening you should go to the Manor and see Hermione"

He tensed, scowled, "I don't think she'd want to see me."

"Nonsense, Poppy asked me why she kept saying your name over and over again last night. I made up some ridiculous excuse, but Poppy's no fool. I think you will find Hermione wants to see you very much."

"Do you think I am being an old fool?" he asked suddenly, "she is so young and I'm…" he sighed, "I'm not exactly the nicest person in the world." He smiled at his tact towards his own self.

"I think love can blossom when you least expect it; look at the two boys at the Manor."

Snape rolled his eyes, "I would rather not think about that little catastrophe waiting to happen."

"Well, you have to admit, it is unexpected." Minerva grinned, "I wonder which one is the pitcher and which one is the catcher."

"That does it, I'm going to bed." He fumbled with the door knob and tried to walk through before it was opened, slamming himself bodily into it. Minerva yelped.

They stared at each other and suddenly both burst into laughter.

"OK," Snape grinned, "you never tell anyone about that."

"Deal"

He opened the door, "Merry Christmas Minerva."

"Merry Christmas Severus."

**********************************************


	21. And so this is Christmas Part 3

**Chapter 10 - Part 3**

"Draco? Hermione is alright" Harry stopped, the room was empty, "Draco?"

Cold air was rushing into the room from the closet door that was wide open and Harry went to close it, only to discover that it was the doorway to another room entirely. "Draco?" He ventured into the other room. A bedroom. As large and as beautiful as Draco's room was. The furniture in this room was older and heavier. Dark wood side boards and chairs, a huge dark bed.

Draco was asleep in the bed.

Harry looked around the room. A large portrait of Narcissa Malfoy hung on one wall, another of Draco and Lucius hung opposite. The side board groaned under the weight of hundreds of photographs, all framed and cluttered on every available surface. Up the side of the door frame Harry noticed a growth chart, each point clearly etched with a name, a date and an age. Draco at 1 year, 2 years and so on up until he was 17 and taller than Harry was now.

It had to be Lucius Malfoy's bedroom. Harry shuddered. Carefully, as though expecting Lucius to appear at any moment, Harry crossed the room to the bed and sat on the edge of it, staring down at Draco. He felt a surge of guilt. He had asked nastily if Draco thought of anything other than sex, and of course he did. He thought about the same things Harry thought about. Harry had never known his family and longed for one. Draco, whose family had been torn from him, missed them desperately.

He stroked Draco's cheek, pushed silky strands of hair back and tucked them behind Draco's ear. Draco's eyes flickered and opened with heavy lids. He rolled onto his back, startled and stared up at Harry, uncomprehending for a moment and then relaxing.

"How's Hermione?" he asked quietly.

"She's fine," Harry smiled, "how are you?"

"Ok, fine." He forced a smile in return, "why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason." Harry drew him up to him, "do you want to go back to our room?"

Draco hugged him tightly. He didn't want to leave this place, but he didn't want to be alone and making love to Harry in this bed would be just plain wrong. He climbed from the bed and, taking Harry's hand, they left, closing the door behind them.

In one smooth movement Harry grabbed Draco and pinned him against the closed door. His bare chest pressed against the Draco's, the soft fabric of Draco's t-shirt infuriating him. He slid his hands under the shirt, up over Draco's rib cage and his thumbs grazed Draco's bare nipples. He pushed the shirt up over Draco's chest and gently bit one tiny pink bud.

This was good. Harry was never aggressive, this was great! Draco found himself instantly aroused.

Harry's lips brushed Draco's, "Do you want me?"

"Yes."

Harry's mouth closed over Draco's, hot and lush, and Harry tasted like spit and toothpaste. He'd brushed his teeth. Draco could only wonder what his own mouth tasted like. Morning breath, but Harry didn't seem to care less. His tongue licked and searched until it found Draco's tongue and teased Draco's mouth. They kissed with sloppy abandon, their mouths wet with saliva which coated their chins, their hands plunged into each other's hair. Neither had shaved and the stubble scoured each other's faces, leaving scratches. It didn't matter, nothing mattered.

Draco felt Harry's hips gyrating against his thigh and Harry's hard cock pressing into the muscle there. He moved his legs, bent his knees just a little so that Harry could stand between them and their hips were on the same level. Their cocks were pressed hard against each other, separated by only the thin silk pajamas they both wore.

Not breaking the kiss Harry irritably fumbled and tore at the pants, pushing them both down so that they could feel the heat of each other's bare flesh. Draco moaned and wondered if it was possible for Harry to fuck him while they stood here, or if they would have to negotiate a path back to the bed.

"Oh shit, sorry!"

Harry jerked his head around and Draco looked past him. Hermione stood in the door way, wrapped in a long scarlet robe that Draco had left in the bathroom for her. Draco had half a mind to ask if she wanted to join them, but thought better of it, the girl had been traumatized after all and Harry would probably deposit a well placed knee to his groin if he did so. But with Hermione came the cold realization that this was about to stop – and Draco really didn't want to stop.

Hermione could have kicked herself a dozen times over. Why had she squeaked out anything so stupid? Why had she not been able to remain silent and enjoy the show? It was possibly the hottest thing she had ever seen and she had the guilty pleasure of feeling her clitoris engorge with blood. She felt a smile cross her face.

"Um, sorry. I…" She blushed. They were staring at her and she allowed her gaze to rest on Harry's pale bottom, "you carry on, I'll…I'll go and um…" well, what was she going to do? She had no idea about the layout of the house and while she would have loved to explore it, she doubted she should do so alone, who knew what kinds of traps were set for the unsuspecting. She giggled suddenly, uncontrollably. They were both frozen, staring at her as though she had caught them in the middle of some terrible act. "Nice bum Harry."

Harry flushed bright red and pulled his pants up, gently drawing Draco's up while he was at it. Draco's face split into a wide grin and he began to laugh. "Well it's true," he chuckled, "you do have a nice bum."

*********************************************

Sitting beside the window in the small lounge room, Ron thought the constant ticking of the clock on the mantel would drive him mad. He was at a loss as to why they all had to get up so damn early anyway. Through the open archway he had a clear view of the stairs and he had spent the last hour expecting George and Angelina to come down. They all were. The house had rocked from day break with the sounds of George and Angelina fighting. Even the family ghoul had retreated to the attic to get out of the way.

Ron's gaze jumped from the open doorway to the gift in his lap, then from the gift to the doorway again, and then back to the gift. The small tag on the gift had his name on it, it was from Harry. His guilt was multiplying, as he hadn't purchased anything for Harry or Hermione, yet they had both sent him something. To make matters worse, the rest of his family was all there in the lounge room, unwrapping gifts and pretending all was well. Ginny and Fred were discussing George and Angelina indiscreetly, despite their mother shushing them and fussing over the handing out of presents. Ron felt a bead of sweat run down his back and he silently prayed to all of his personal Gods for the argument not to be about him. He could only hope that Angelina wouldn't choose Christmas for the shit to hit the fan.

"What time is lunch going to be?" Bill asked, more out of the need to say something to divert from the yelling from upstairs.

"Maybe a little later than usual," Molly cast a furtive glance to the ceiling, "some time after one."

Everyone could almost hear Fleur's pregnant belly growl.

The creak on the stair alerted everyone to George and Angelina coming down. Ginny and Fred shut up and everyone plastered a smile on their faces. The knot in Ron's stomach tightened. His brother and sister-in-law appeared, holding hands and smiling as though nothing had happened. Ron felt his stomach uncoil a little. George didn't rush at him, or threaten to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Relief rushed though him and his fingers found the ribbon of Harry's present.

"Ron?"

He jerked his face up to Angelina. "Yes?" his voice came out hoarse and she held out a gift to him.

"From George and I," she laughed merrily and bet over to kiss his cheek. "Merry Christmas." She placed a kiss on his cheek, parting her lips and allowing the tip of her tongue to caress the smooth skin. She gently squeezed his thigh as she pushed away from him, her finger tips brushed his balls as she turned away to find Fred's gift.

Ron's cock hardened a little and he looked away, out of the window and to the small garden shed. It was going to be a long day.

****************************************

The lounge room of Malfoy Manor had been decorated some time during the early hours of the morning by the small team of House Elves that cared for the house. They had spent the past seven months in relative bliss. Without a Malfoy in the house, they were essentially free and yet enjoyed the comfort that came with belonging to the house they were born to. The members of the Ministry who had been stationed at the Manor until recently, had been no bother. The Elves did as they were instructed to do. They kept secret the things that the Master did not want to be seen, going so far as to sacrifice things of value in order to save those of more importance from prying eyes. All, save Non, had hoped to never see the return of the Malfoy's again. When Master Draco had arrived they were sure that the terror in which they had spent most of their lives, had returned.

Master Draco was different. On this visit at least he was not the bullying, nasty and selfish boy they remembered. He also brought with him Harry Potter. And they all knew who Harry Potter was. Some looked on him with fear and trepidation. Had he not set Dobby free? What if he was to do the same to them? What would become of them? Others saw this new friend as a sign that perhaps times were changing. To be sure Master Draco was still abrupt, irritable and demanding of them, but he hadn't yelled yet. He hadn't kicked one of them down the stairs; he hadn't demanded a punishment, not even when Posie had spilled wine all over the Master's shirt at last night's dinner. He had simply ground his teeth and bore it admirably. Something his father would never have done.

When Non announced that the house would be decorated for Christmas, they had almost baulked at the idea. It was not an official request, indeed no request at all had come down regarding Christmas. A veritable sea of gifts had arrived and they were all taken to the lounge room, and the decorating had developed from there. It seemed a terrible shame to have all of those gifts with no festive atmosphere. And so it was done. By the time the Master and his two friends (one a Mudblood they had heard) actually came down stairs, the room was warm and glowing with red and gold and green, a huge Christmas tree fully decorated with glowing baubles and the ocean of brightly wrapped presents beneath.

Harry's mouth fell open, one look at his companions proved that they were equally as surprised. It really was incredible. Dumbledore had sent Hermione's gifts from Hogwarts during the night and the five packages were placed carefully in a small pocket of space beneath the tree. Draco had estimated that he would get three gifts, one from Harry, one from Snape and possibly one from Hermione. Which meant that the rest were Harry's.

And there were a lot of them. Draco knew he had gone overboard, but not that overboard. So who had sent Harry all these presents? Admirers? Well wishers? Draco felt a tug of jealousy in his belly.

"Wow," Harry was saying. He had never seen so many gifts all in one place. "Who are they all for?"

Draco shrugged, "I guess we should just look at the tags."

Hermione located her packages quickly. A silver bracelet from Lavender, a book on the Origins of the Alchemist from Harry, a hand embroidered shawl from Draco and an assortment of books and clothes from her parents. She found her hands shook as she picked up the last package. A small gold box with a blue ribbon tied around it. The card had her name carefully scripted across in Snape's thin and slightly cramped hand writing. She stared at the box for a long time before Draco urged her to open it. She looked up to find Harry and Draco watching her eagerly, both having recognized the hand writing and wanting to see what the vile Potions Master considered an appropriate Christmas gift.

She untied the ribbon and slowly removed the lid from the box. She pulled out the tissue paper stuffed in the top of it and reached inside. A round potion bottle with a glass stopper sat in her hand. Around the bottle her name was engraved in the glass and wrapped around the bottle's neck was a chain with a pendant dangling from it. She unwound the chain and held the pendant up. It was hidden behind a small card. She opened it and read quickly. "The green fairy wants your soul – but you are safe with me." She removed the card carefully so that she could keep it, and held the pendant up to the fire light. It was a fairy in flight, made of delicate white gold with dazzling emeralds for wings.

You are safe with me.

Hermione burst into tears.

Which of course brought both boys running with comforting hugs and kisses.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione sniffled and nodded and tried to smile at Harry. She held the pendant close to her heart.

"Well, he has better taste than I thought he would," said Draco, looking at the pendant and then to the potion bottle. "The fairy is beautiful, but I think you'll find the real prize is the perfume."

Perfume? She looked at the Potion bottle.

"If he's made perfume for you, he really likes you. It's a dead give away with Snape. He only makes perfume for people he really loves."

Harry snorted derisively.

"What?" Draco demanded irritably, "he is capable of loving people you know, he's not a monster."

Harry didn't look convinced. Snape had spent years convincing Harry that he was little more than that. Hermione removed the stopper from the bottle and the scent of freshly cut roses and iris filled the room. It was as though they had just walked into a particularly fragrant garden on a summer's day. The air smelled of grasses and something else, something creamy that she realized with delight was vanilla. Beneath it was something deeper and earthy, woods and spices and the clean smell of Hermione's own skin. She understood suddenly what Lavender meant when she said that he was wasted as a Potions Master. At the time she had scoffed at the suggestion, but if he made scents he would make his fortune.

She felt tears well in her eyes again and she forced them back. "Would someone else open a gift please, I feel like I'm on display."

Draco did not need to be told twice. He began to wade through the gifts in search of his own and discovered with some amazement that a large quantity of the haul was his. Hermione gave him a book on Modern Gematrian Thought, Snape a book of Alchemical Mythology and a bottle of scent (thus helping Harry to understand why Draco always smelled so incredibly good) and he was thrilled to find Harry had given him a pendant of a Dragon wrapped around a long shard of quartz crystal. All of this was well and good and wonderful, but who were the rest from? He frowned.

"What's up?" Harry asked, he was feeling great, he'd just had Draco's tongue down his throat for the brilliance of his gift and he had just unwrapped a Weasley jumper, which meant Molly perhaps did not hate him as much as he'd feared.

"Well," Draco ran his fingers over a box wrapped in silver, "I don't know who sent me the rest of these presents."

"Why don't you read the card," Hermione suggested logically, she was fiddling with the clasp to her necklace, trying to get it around her throat and eventually Harry wised up and helped her.

Draco shrugged and picked up the large card tied to the biggest box. He turned it over in his hand, looking at his name written clearly on the front of it. He knew the handwriting so well that he couldn't quite believe it.

"Besides," Harry continued, "a heap of these are for me and I have no idea who'd be buying me presents."

Draco looked at him, distracted, "I did you twit," he muttered.

"You did?" Harry's mouth fell open, "you couldn't have brought all of these."

"Well, not all of them. Just most of them."

Harry quickly went through and found packages from Hermione, Dumbledore, Tonks and Lupin. "How – how many did you give me?"

Draco shrugged, still turning card over in his fingers. "I dunno, sixty-seven I think."

"SIXTY-SEVEN?!" Harry suddenly felt like his cousin Dudley, only he'd just scored more gifts than Dudley could ever receive in one sitting. He felt giddy, like he couldn't sit still. Sixty-seven gifts! Sixty-seven gifts from Draco! The world started to spin, he felt faint.

"If you don't like anything you can exchange it." Draco finally opened the envelope and pulled out the card. Then didn't open it.

Harry's eyes were shining brightly, like a small child having a pleasure overload.

"Are you ok Draco?" Hermione asked concerned. Draco had paled a little; he held the card in his hands but didn't move to open it at all.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's nothing."

Harry snapped out of his Christmas rush and eyed the card suspiciously. "Who is it from? Is it someone playing a joke?" An awful thought hit him, "Is it Ron being a prick?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "No, I don't think Weasel would be that clever actually. It's nothing, just a bit of a shock, that's all."

Harry frowned, "who sent the presents?"

Draco handed the card to Harry who opened it and scanned his eyes across what was written inside. "Oh," he said quietly, crisply, not sure what he thought of it.

"What does it say?" Draco asked, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I think you should read it yourself."

"No, if someone doesn't read it to me I won't read it at all."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave his sixty-seven presents a longing glance. He sighed and looked at the card.

"'Dear Draco, If you are reading this then I am either dead or rotting in Azkaban or something worse than that, which I really do not want to contemplate at the moment. I knew that you would hate to miss Christmas. I think it was always your favorite time of year and it saddens me to think I am missing it and missing you. I have instructed Non to keep everything safe for you and to ensure you receive everything on Christmas morning. I hope you are with people who love you. If you are alone take comfort in the fact that you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars and you have a right to be here. Keep peace with your soul, be cheerful and strive to be happy. Do not follow others blindly. I have committed many sins in my life, but I would say that the greatest of them would be having lost myself to another's will. You are a better person than that; you are stronger and finer.

Remember your family, remember your name and do not be ashamed of it. I love you as I have always loved you. That will always remain, beyond this life, beyond any separation, that will remain.

Merry Christmas

Dad.'"

Draco exhaled and smiled sadly. Harry and Hermione were staring at him and he felt his eyes start to water. Great, he was going to cry, some fucking Christmas this was turning out to be. He reached across, refusing to blink lest his eyes spill over, and picked up a long heavy box. Pulling the lid from it he pulled out a Montrose Magpies Signature Series Firebolt and received the appropriate gasps from his onlookers.

"You are so fucking spoilt," Harry said in awe and Draco sort of laughed and cried at the same time. Harry looked from Draco to Hermione and shrugged. There wasn't a lot he could do about this. His eyes returned to his large pile of gifts and they began to shine with joy and enthusiasm. If Draco and Hermione were going to partake in tear-fest '98, he would be there as the convenient shoulder – after he'd opened his sixty-seven presents.

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The day progressed slowly and Hermione grew tired early. When she thought hard on it she realized that she had spent her Christmas in a strangely contented state, which vexed her considering the events of the previous night. She kept expecting to suddenly feel violated or distraught and when this didn't happen she began to doubt her own sanity. She should feel terrible, she should feel the need for wrath, she should feel anything other than this contented state. But contented she felt.

The day had been quiet. She had expected that perhaps Severus might come, but the Manor remained obstinately visitor free. So in lieu of a visitor for herself, she had watched Harry and Draco. She realized for the first time that she had never seen Harry truly happy. That was until now. Oh she had seen him laugh; she had even seen him look joyful. The day when he left the Dursley's for good, watching the Quidditch World Cup, times like that. But she had never seen him simply happy, with no real cause other than a light which had come on inside of him. He was happy now. He had made his way through his sea of gifts, opening each one with the enthusiasm of a small child and exclaiming with continued amazement. When the gifts were opened, played with and admired, he had settled in to petting Draco, touching him lightly at every given opportunity, as though fearful he would fly away. They kissed a lot. They never seemed to tire of it and Hermione began to feel flush with the energy they both seemed to exude for each other. She was certain that if she had not been there, they would no doubt be rolling around on the floor with complete abandon. She wished that someone would feel that way about her.

Dinner had been jovial, with the House Elves producing a veritable feast for the three of them and by the time the meal was through, Draco was well on his way to a sensational and jovial drunk and Harry was only about two steps behind him. Hermione couldn't drink; her stomach turned at the thought of alcohol and she correctly guessed that the cause was the potion Madam Pomfrey had given her to help ease the pain in her body.

By the end of the meal she had started to ache and her contented state began to ease. So it had all been a potion. Her smile became forced and eventually a grimace.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked concerned when she suddenly felt vague and rubbed her forehead.

"I'm fine," she grimaced slightly, "I think I'm just tired."

"Do you want to stay with us tonight?"

She looked between them. She couldn't sleep with them tonight; she could see by the way their bodies seemed to lean towards one and other that they were desperate to enjoy each other. She felt a fear of being alone, but she rationally told herself that she was safe here.

Then again, she had thought herself safe at Hogwarts. She wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

"No, I'll stay in the guest room," she smiled, forcing it to her lips and forcing it to look genuine. It didn't convince either of them, but in truth they were desperate to be alone and for a moment they allowed their desire to override their compassion. Draco helped Hermione to her feet and showed her to a guest room. It was close to his own room and thus near to Harry and safety. If she needed anything she could come and get them, or even call out. They would leave the door open, just in case, and Draco had cast an amplification charm on the corridor so that if she called they would hear her – and they would come running.

Hermione kissed them both good night and under their watchful eyes, took a draught of Madam Pomfrey's muscle relaxing brew and lay back in the satin pillows of the guest bed.

It worked fast, and she soon began to drift.

Her lungs felt heavy and weighted down and her throat felt thick and sore. The relaxant made her too tired to open her eyes; her eyelids felt as though they were weighted with sand. She let herself slip in and out of sleep, drifting along. The backs of her knees and the back of her neck soon warmed and she felt as though her muscles were melting from her bones, she felt herself sinking into the very fibers of the mattress.

The dreams came soon after.

At first she was certain that they were too vivid to be dreams. Her dreams were always disjointed and confused, but the images here were clear, alive and virulent and she knew somehow that they were memories, not some product of her imagination. For a time she struggled with the thoughts, willing herself to wake and fighting hard against the tide of images that washed through her tormented brain. She gave in when she realized that it only hurt her head more to struggle, and the memories wanted to be explored, who was she to stop them?

Krum was yelling at her and she saw the pale flash of knuckles as his fist slammed into her face. He was screaming at her, calling her names, telling her he loved her, telling her she had forced him to do this. Then the scene melted away and she was standing on the Quidditch pitch and 1000 Death Eaters descended from the sky on black winged horses and she was running and screaming at Harry to run. But he didn't run and he didn't move, he just watched the sky (why wouldn't he run?). Charlie was yelling at him, trying to make Harry budge, working until the last moment when the blond haired man came from the sky and blew Charlie apart. (It was Lucius, Ron was sure, it had to be, who else looked like that?) Harry had watched it happen like a man in a trance, waiting for death to come and claim him on black wings. The dream shifted shape again and she could see her parents disapproving faces, begging her to come home, to live a normal life. She tried to speak to them but they could not hear her.

She was at Hogwarts, in a store cupboard full of fairies and she was kissing her Potions Master and he tasted like aniseed.

She smiled in her sleep and stirred. Her heavy eyes opened and closed and she clung to the dream a moment longer.

She saw Snape's face. Pale and gaunt with dark eyes half hidden by curtains of black hair. He was sitting on the side of the bed, looking down on her and he stroked her cheek gently. The touch was so real and she held his gaze for a long time, not wanting to let him slip away from her again.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, sucking on her bottom lip. It felt so real. To her dismay he stood and turned to go. She cried out softly and he stopped. "Stay with me" she mumbled, her mouth felt stuffed with cotton.

He came back to her and sat back on the edge of the bed. She watched him remove his travel cloak and his coat, she watched as he untied his boot laces and pulled his boots off and his socks. Then he climbed into the bed and pulled her to him. She tried to make her imagination work. In her dream world, he could at least have removed all his clothes.

It didn't matter, she snuggled into the warmth of his body and inhaled his scent. His body was so warm, his body smelled so right. She blinked and blinked again.

This was no dream, he was really there.

"Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"Am I asleep?"

"I don't know, are you?"

She sat up in the bed and looked down at him, eyes wide. She was most definitely awake! "I thought I dreamed you."

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "That's a pity, you looked like you were having nightmares."

She drew breath and curled her hand around a fist full of his shirt. He was here, he was really here. "I…" she felt her breath catch. She didn't want to cry, not now. She didn't want everything to come down on her now, not when he had finally come to her. "I did have a nightmare, but you weren't there then."

Snape pulled her down to him and she nestled into the curve of his body, pressing her cheek hard into his chest, fighting back the tide of tears.

His sensitive hand smoothed over her hair and gently stroked further down her back, rubbing gently up and down her spine, soothing her. There was nothing sexual in the touch, only a desire to bring comfort. She felt secure and warm and cozy and she felt the tears come, running from her eyes and soaking hot into the cotton of his shirt. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her. Her feet lightly touched his legs and she felt bathed in his warmth. He seemed like furnace, his body heat filling her. She opened her hand against his chest and tried to gauge the hardness of the flesh beneath the shirt.

Her fear had been that she would not be able to do this. That she would not be able to touch him, or have him touch her. She was not a stupid person, if she saw Krum when she closed her eyes, there was no guarantee she wouldn't continue to see him. That moment when his fist connected with her face and knocked her senseless. She shuddered and felt Snape's hold tighten. She wondered if he knew everything. Would he find her disgusting when he learned just how intimately Krum had touched her? When he found out that Krum's seed had been spilled on her body? Did she really want to inflict this on him?

She started to pull away, feeling suddenly filthy, as though Krum's hands were still on her, staining her somehow. Snape gently tightened his hold and she realized that he was not going to let her go, he planned to keep her close to him. She felt the tears come again and she began to sob, her small chest heaving against him.

Snape pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stroked the hair from her face. "Do you want to tell me about the dream?" he asked quietly.

"No," she sobbed.

She felt him sigh, a sound and movement deep in his chest. He stroked her hair again, relaxing her a little.

"Do you want to tell me what happened with Krum?"

She stopped breathing for a moment, holding her breath in, afraid to speak. Finally she had to say something and she gnawed at her lip frantically. "No," she said, afraid of her own voice, "but…but I will, if you're sure you want to hear it."

"I do," he replied, but she could hear in his voice a fear similar to her own.

She felt herself trembling as she wondered exactly where she should start and deciding that the beginning was probably the best place – with realizing that he had gone away and that she was alone. She told him everything she could remember. She spared him no detail. She spared him no pain. When she finished it felt as though the world had stopped turning on its axis. Snape didn't breath, didn't move. Even his heartbeat seemed to pause.

A lump formed in her throat and she started to shake. Did he think it her fault? Would he blame her? "I.." she couldn't speak, the lump in her throat made it hard to speak or breath. He must think her disgusting.

Suddenly his hand was buried in her hair and his cheek was pressed into the top of her head. His hold on her was so tight it was almost suffocating and yet she would not have him release her. He was surrounding her, giving the protection he wished he had been able to give her, trying to give her what strength he had.

Hermione drew a long shuddered breath, "I'm sorry," she sobbed it into his chest, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you. You probably didn't want to hear that."

"Yes I did," he said quickly. His voice was hoarse and when she moved her face to look at him, his expression was stark and stricken. His eyes were glazed and it took a moment for her to realize that they were full of tears. He was crying for her. Crying with pity. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her cheek bone. He drew breath and it caught. His dark lashes swept down to hide his eyes and a tear escaped and rolled silently down his cheek. He pulled her back down, returned his cheek to the top of her head and in a raw whisper he rasped, "I should have been there. I should never have left you."

"You…you weren't to know, you couldn't have known."

"Oh Gods," his entire body trembled and tightened around her, "it doesn't matter. I should never have left you there. We have come far enough for you to deserve better from me."

"I was so angry," She was saying, not knowing why she was speaking, "I was so mad when I realized you had gone. Then when Krum was hurting me I realized that I was so stupid. All those letters. It's no wonder you left. I was acting like such a stupid little school girl."

"No!" he tilted her face to his and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. "Don't ever say that. Those letters kept me going, I was the idiot, I kept denying it, I kept trying to convince myself that nothing was happening. I was a selfish fool."

She heard him swallow and felt his breaths coming fast and shallow. He was upset, unhappy and ashamed, forced to cope with the brutal truths of Krum's attack. She forced her own breathing to calm and become even. A nagging doubt plagued the back of her mind, that learning all of this repulsed him but he felt too responsible and ashamed to let her go. Her logic told her this wasn't so, her heart told her it wasn't so. He was reaching into her and drawing out the pain, trying to take them away, trying to take them into himself.

Her chest hurt and her throat was sore and ready to close. She felt raw, as though she had been laid bare before him and so she had. Snape was stroking her hair again, filling her with the strength that she so desperately needed. Everything began to blur and her resolve for calm dissolved into a well of tears.

"He…" her voice caught, "I…I couldn't get away."

Snape lifted her hand to his mouth and held it there against his parted lips, she could feel his quick breaths fan ragged against it. He remained silent, he didn't know what he could possibly say that could make this better. He didn't realize that just being there was enough.

"I just kept thinking that I could try harder, fight harder, but I couldn't, it was like my whole body was made of lead and I couldn't do anything. I was useless."

Snape tapped her knuckles against his mouth, his grip on her hand was so tight it hurt. When she could lift her head again to look at him she saw that his eyes were closed and he looked like a man in pain. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were tight, she could see them straining through the thin cotton of his shirt. His nostrils flared with every breath he took, but he held her hand securely in his own, as though he would never let it go.

"Hermione," he whispered. His voice was tender and he said her name as though he loved her, but his face was hard and rigid and when he opened his eyes they were hard and black as coal. He looked distraught and disgusted and she had no doubt that he was. She tried to pull her hand free, but he held it fast, pressing a kiss into her wrist.

She felt small and foolish then, not knowing how he felt, not understanding the complexity of his expression. "Are you happy now?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm directed solely at herself, "Are you happy you know it all."

He wiped a tear from her cheek and then smeared the back of his hand across his own face, wiping his own tears away." No, I'm not happy," he said, his voice raw, "I am probably the most miserable piece of shit that ever walked the earth…but I am glad you told me."

She sat up, pulling her hand free, her whole body trembling. "I should have stopped him," she said irrationally. "I made all the wrong choices, one mistake after another. You must be disgusted by my lack of judgment. You must think me an idiot. You must think me vile!"

He sat up beside her and stroked his hand over her head and down her back. He looked at her, concerned, full of emotion and tenderness. "That is not what I think," he said quietly, "I would never think that."

"Then what do you think?" she asked bitterly, her voice shaking and she silently cursed herself, she was going to cry again. Perhaps she just needed to cry. Perhaps she needed to cry more than she needed to hear the truth of his opinion at that moment. Especially if his opinion was, as she suspected, one of repulsion and disgusted.

He gave her a small sad smile. "What I think is that I love you, and that you are most incredible woman I have ever met."

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	22. And so this is Christmas Part 4

**Chapter 10 – Part 4**

Draco kept his hood over his head as he passed through the entrance of the oddly small marquee set up in the Salisbury plain. He had chosen Boxing Day for the simple fact that the day after Christmas was going to be quiet. He didn't need people staring at him when he was trying to deal with this. The deserted marquee did not surprise him and he sneered at the Aurors at the door who eyed him with suspicion.

He really couldn't believe he was paying five Galleons to see his own Father. The Ministry should have made a provision for relatives of the Death Eaters. Not that the Ministry really cared about the relatives of Death Eaters. Draco knew that he was regarded with suspicion simply because he still gave a good god damn about his Father's fate. Had he behaved appropriately, he would have abandoned Lucius and set out to make a new life for himself. Either that or he should have died like most of his friends had. He, of course, had done neither. It simply wasn't in Draco Malfoy to do what he was supposed to do like a good little boy. Well, not unless it could further his own cause.

Her wandered through the Dark Arts Artifacts with bored disinterest. He had been raised with far more impressive bits and pieces around him. From what he could see, the Curator would give his right ball to go through the old crap in Manors dungeons. That was if the Ministry hadn't already found everything. He doubted they had. He didn't care how good the Aurors were, the Manor would never give up its secrets that easily.

He lingered with the artifacts, looking at useless cursed mirrors, threadbare flying carpets, poisons, potions and various charmed objects. He knew he was just avoiding going into the next room, which was ridiculous because that was the only reason he had come here in the first place.

He had pulled himself out of bed early, leaving Harry to sleep, knowing that if he told Harry where he was going, Harry would try and talk him out of it. He really didn't want to fight with Harry this morning. There would be time for that this afternoon and plenty of time to make up after that. He just had to get this one thing out of the way without a fight. So here he was. Now he was too scared to actually go in.

Not scared exactly, he just didn't know if he was going to handle it well. He was thankful that there was no one around. If he did lose it, there would be no witnesses. Although he had perfected his Minor Obliviate charm just in case.

It was probably best to just take a deep breath and go on in. He nodded to himself, felt like a bit of an idiot, and drew a breath.

His Father was at the far end of the room, he saw him immediately and he fixed his eyes on the pool of light and made straight for it. He refused to look around, refused to see what had become of the other people he had once known collectively as his "parents' friends." His only concern was to see his Father, slumped as he was in a glass case in the corner.

Once he had traversed the room, once he was in front of the case, he allowed himself to focus and really see the man inside. He released his breath and froze.

Lucius looked very much as he had on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Thin and fragile and a little frightened. He was leaning against the side of the case, his hair looked mussed, like a doll taken out for a game and hastily replaced. His hair was ridiculously long and Draco knew he'd hate it like that. It was so long it had started to curl at the ends, it was filling up the case.

Draco drew closer to the case and wandered around it, stopping at the point where his Father's head and shoulder made heavy contact with the glass. He placed a hand against the case and splayed his fingers out across the area where his father's shoulder was pressed. Less than a centimeter separated them and it may as well have been a chasm.

"Hi Dad," he said quietly into the glass, " how have you been?"

There was no answer. He didn't expect one.

"I got my Christmas presents," Draco smiled, "they were really great. I loved the broomstick." He bowed his head, "It flies really well." He swallowed and rested his forehead against the glass, so that he was essentially whispering in his father's ear.

"I had guests for Christmas." He paused and chewed his lip. He didn't need to worry. It wasn't as though Lucius was in any way capable of registering his disapproval. Still Draco shuddered, knowing that had Lucius still been in possession of his faculties, Draco would be disappointing him right now. "I, um, I had Harry and Hermione come and stay at the Manor for Christmas. You remember Hermione, um, she's, um, a, um, M-Muggleborn." He winced as though waiting for a good solid slap upside the head. None came. "And you know Harry, of course, Harry…P-Potter."

Draco pulled back from the glass and stared at the side of his father's head. Lucius didn't move, there was no discernible reaction. At that moment he would have given everything he owned for Lucius to turn around and really yell at him for being a complete idiot. He realized foolishly that he was still wearing his hood and he pushed it back from his face.

"Actually," he said carefully, gaining courage and momentum, "Harry and I are…we are…we are lovers. He is not what I thought he would be. This whole year is not what I thought it would be. So many people died, I was…" he stopped, he didn't need to explain himself to his father, not now. "I know you wouldn't be happy with me. Non keeps telling me that you wouldn't approve. But I can't help it. You have no idea what it is like being alive and being your son. I had no one, no friends, nothing except people who despise me because of my name and the fact that I am your progeny. They think I'm the spawn of the devil and who the fuck knows, I probably am. Why did you have to follow him? Why did you have to play sheep? You always told me to be proud and to be a leader and never follow anyone and look at what you did? You blindly followed someone to our ruin! You should have let me fight so I could have fucking died, you should never have left me here to deal with the shit you left behind." Draco drew away, staring at the man in the case through rapidly blurring vision. "Then Hermione came along and offered her friendship. What was I supposed to do? Turn her down? And now she is so…important to me, and Harry…" Draco stopped and stared at his Father desperately, "he loves me. He doesn't care about you, or who I am, or the past or the war or any of the things he really should care about. He just loves me and I…"

There was movement. Draco couldn't believe it but there was movement in the case. Slowly Lucius turned his head and one large grey eye met Draco's astonished face. There was a moment of total clarity and Lucius Malfoy was there, staring at his son with complete comprehension.

************************************************

Snape and Hermione had not slept. They spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, talking about anything and everything that came into their minds, occasionally dozing and basking in the warmth of each other's bodies. This was different to other times they had been together. Hermione was quite amazed because it brought her to mind of the first night they had spent together, locked in a store cupboard and playing a game of truth or dare. They had talked then as they had talked this night, gaining each other's confidence, learning about the each other's minds.

As dawn filtered through the windows they realized that they hadn't even touched each other sexually for so much as a moment. (True, Snape had been tempted to try, especially after a moment at 2am when a screaming started down the hall which had almost roused them from the bed in a blind panic until Potter had started wailing "DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP, DON'T STOP" at the top of his lungs.) Now was not the time for sex, it was too soon for her, her body needed to recover.

The sun was already in the sky, lighting the crisp winter morning and they had been dozing for a short time when she woke him with a softly whispered "Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"Tell me a story."

He laughed. "A story?"

"Yes. I want a true story."

"Alright then, I will tell you a true story."

"Is it a happy story?"

"Of course, it's Christmas and you deserve a happy story."

"Good." She yawned quietly, "tell me a happy true story."

"Once upon a time" said Snape, gently tracing one of the perfect curls that had fallen on to Hermione's cheek, "there was a green Dragon and he ate a whole train full of obnoxious people."

"Were they all Muggles?"

"Oh no," Snape countered, "Not at all, I'd say there were a few Wizards on board; mostly Ministry officials." Hermione laughed and snuggled closer to this chest and he continued. "Of course, the Dragon got a very bad case of indigestion that lasted for many weeks and so he eventually decided he needed some medicine. He strolled on his many legs to the nearest Apothecary and said "I have indigestion and nausea"."

Hermione began to giggle, "Is that your Green Dragon voice?"

"Yes, isn't it very good?"

"It's excellent, just what I imagine I Green Dragon would sound like."

"I'm glad to hear it, now where was I?"

"Indigestion and nausea" Hermione giggled, doing her best impression of his Green Dragon voice.

"Ah yes, "What from?" asked the Apothecary.

"Oh just all the obnoxious people in this world" said the dragon and the Apocethary, after carefully considering the Dragons problem gave him some milk of magnesia. In two days the Dragon was feeling better again so he ate another train full of the same sort of people. He felt worse than before and after weeks of suffering he went back to the Apothecary. "Please help me Mr. Apothecary ", he said." All the false people in this world make me terribly sick"

The Apothecary replied, "You must get over this terrible objection to the people in this world but I'll give you some milk of magnesia anyway."

The Green Dragon who was much fatter now as he had eaten two trains recovered in a few days. He was lying by the railway tracks when a train stopped right in front of him. He looked at it with his big brown eyes watching the people laughing long at their own jokes and posing around being completely false. He tried to control himself but he loathed these sorts of people so he lumbered over to the train and ate it which he almost completely digested due to his extremely strong digestive juices. Amongst the wreckage lay an old man who had just been in and out of a Dragon's stomach and stood there, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Hello" he said so sincerely that it nearly made one of the Dragons legs drop off.

The Dragon looked back in disbelief. "Hello with such sincerity?"

"Well" said the man. "We obviously don't believe the other exists, so let's go bowling.""

"That did not really happen!" Hermione declared.

"It most certainly did," Snape assured her.

"How do you know?"

"Because Dumbledore told me, it happened to his brother Aberforth."

"And what would Aberforth Dumbledore be doing on a train full of obnoxious people."

"Well," Snape smiled, "he's a very odd man."

"He's very nice, he likes animals and…"

"His fascination for goats has nothing to do with being kind to animals."

Hermione went to respond, then thought about it, "oh" she said shocked.

Smiling playfully, Hermione rolled onto her stomach and peered into fathomless black eyes. She still couldn't quite believe he was here, that he had been with her all night – that he loved her. He looked tired; his heavy eye lids looked as though they were aching to close. He did not look happy; there was a sadness to his features that came from the fact that she had been hurt when he should have been there to protect her. It was a conviction he would carry with him for the rest of his life. His face held another emotion, one she had never seen there. He looked content.

She kissed him, pressing hard against his body, surprised at her sudden hunger for him. She gently eased her hand up under his shirt and allowed her fingers to slide up over the smooth warm skin. She considered unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down but she doubted her body would be able to handle love making yet.

He moaned into her throat.

She licked at his tongue and returned the moan.

"Don't sweetheart," he whispered gently. His cock was hardening and he could already feel the overwhelming desire to drive up into her. Her narrow body was fragile at the moment, he couldn't risk hurting her.

There was a knock at the door, a light tap and the door pushed open a little. Harry peered around the door and flushed. It was something he never thought he'd have to deal with, the sight of greasy, revolting Snape, in bed with one of his best friends. They were obviously clothed so Harry figured he should be thankful.

Hermione smiled at Harry, Snape just looked annoyed. He pushed himself up in the bed so that he was sitting. He really didn't feel like dealing with Potter when lying flat on his back with a very obvious erection.

"Um, hi," Harry flushed again, knowing he was intruding, but knowing he had to at that moment, he stepped into the room, "sorry for just barging in…"

"What is it Harry?" Hermione sat up, concerned, Harry must've known that Severus was here, so he wouldn't come to the room unless it was necessary.

"Um, actually, I need to speak with you, Professor." He tried to smile at the greasy git.

Snape scowled, "What is it Potter?" he asked, almost spitting the words out.

"It's, um, it's Draco. He's gone to the Dark Arts Exhibition."

Snape paled a little. He was under no illusions as to Draco's mental state. It must be fragile, he was fucking Potter for Gods sake. The last thing he needed was to go and see his Father in that glass box. And what if he encountered the same sensations as Snape had in London? Would it send the boy completely over the edge? "Why didn't you stop him?" he demanded.

Harry's nostrils flared and his green eyes flashed dangerously. He forced himself to calm. "I couldn't stop him, he left before I woke up. He won't listen to me anyway, I already told him not to go, or at least not to go alone."

"So what? Do you want me to go and get him?"

Harry flushed again. It should be Harry going to get his boyfriend, but he knew Draco would just resent the intrusion – and Draco listened to Snape when he obviously didn't listen to Harry. He nodded awkwardly.

Snape sighed and cast a glance at Hermione. He really didn't want to get out of bed. He wanted to stay here forever. Especially since he knew that leaving would mean he wouldn't see her again until New Years. He had promised Minerva faithfully that he would be there to help and he meant to keep his word. Besides, he had his own plans to make. He kissed Hermione gently, fully aware that Potter was dry-retching inside. "Alright," he said, glaring at Potter, "I'll go and bring him back."

"Dad?" Draco took another step back in horror. This was not possible, it just wasn't. Then again, if anything was going to bring someone out of catatonia, telling them that their son was in a homosexual relationship with their arch nemesis would probably do it. "Dad, can you hear me?"

Lucius was already fading, the moment had passed. Draco stared at him, shocked into silence. Suddenly the air around him was filled with an incredible sound, like the beating of giant wings, gathering him up. Pulling him in towards the case and in his head he heard a voice, his fathers and yet not, crying out loud in agony.

"Dad?" He wrenched himself away from the case in fright, took another step back and heard another voice, one that was very much in the room. From behind someone breathed his name.

"Draconis."

Draco distinctly felt the very tips of someone's fingers brush over his hair, down his back and he shuddered and spun around.

Archibald Semeuse froze, his hand hovering in mid air. "You look just like him," he breathed in wonder.

Draco frowned and pulled himself up to his full height. He smoothed down his robes and raised an eyebrow. "And you are?" he sneered.

The Curator smiled, genuinely fascinated, "Archibald Semeuse, Mr. Malfoy. I am the Curator of this exhibition."

Oh yes, the bastard Draco sent monthly payments to. "I see," Draco said crisply, "I am…"

"Draconis," the Curator smiled. He raked his eyes over the young man's form, aching to touch him, to stroke him and see if he felt as his father did, to see them both together. "Draconis Malfoy."

"Draco," Draco corrected, "It's just Draco."

A flush suffused the Curator's features, "Draco then. It is a pleasure to meet you at last Draco Malfoy." He offered his hand.

"I would prefer you call me Mr. Malfoy." Draco shook the proffered hand and felt the urge to wash his own after touching it.

Semeuse smiled thinly. Draco looked him up and down haughtily, "I suppose I have you to thank for maintaining my Father in this…" he looked from Lucius to the Curator with a sneer, "condition."

Once again Semeuse offered a thin smile. "And what Mr. Malfoy, would be the alternative? A cell at Azkaban? You have no idea of the condition in which I received him. You should be thanking me for his care."

"I was close to settling with the Ministry to have them both returned home when this ridiculous exhibition was suggested. Now my Mother is dead and my Father is a carnival attraction – and I pay you for his care." Draco returned the Curator's thin smile, "I see no reason to thank you for anything."

Semeuse felt a stirring in his loins. The boy was haughty and had an arrogance about him. Semeuse had been told stories of his Angels demeanor, his arrogance, his self satisfied superiority. Now he could see it animated and embodied in the Angels son. He was beautiful. As beautiful as his Father, younger, taller. The short hair suited him although Semeuse would have it long. He would have them both together. Entwined in each other's limbs like two lost souls.

He could have him now. The museum was deserted and it wouldn't take much. A partial bind. The Imperius curse. He was good with the Imperius. He could do it with stealth and he needn't draw his wand. He reached into his pocket and balled his hand over the handle of his wand and murmured the curse.

Draco felt something rush around him like a soft breeze and suddenly he felt extremely relaxed.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," Semeuse smiled, "Come here, I think we should get better acquainted."

Draco felt as though he were on coasters because he was suddenly carried forward to the Curator

"You really are a beautiful boy," Semeuse caressed Draco's cheek, "so like your father."

The curse had made Draco's body somnolent, he could feel the strength ebbing from his muscles, relaxing him. The Curator was right, he was a beautiful boy. He knew that. Everyone knew that. But this didn't feel right. He shouldn't be feeling this relaxed right now. Semeuse slipped inside Draco's mind and pushed gently. Pushed the doubt and resistance to the back, stroking the curse with his own brain, his own wants and twisted desires.

Absently he caressed Draco's rigid shoulder. "You poor child," he whispered, "you must have been so brave to continue all alone." He stroked the smooth curve of Draco's throat, feeling the flesh shudder beneath his touch. He unbuttoned the top of Draco's robes and slid his hand beneath the black fabric, letting his fingers stray over the smooth mass of chest and caressed a pale pink nipple.

"You want to be with your father, don't you? You miss him, you want him? I can make that happen Draco, I can have you both together for all eternity."

With a light finger he traced the line of Draco's soft mouth. The boy's lips were so pale, so delicately lined, beneath the collarbone he could see a love bite, a reddish bruise, purpled at it's centre. The boy had probably spent his morning fucking some girl, a girl who knew he had come here. He slipped back into Draco's brain and searched carefully and found the sleeping form of a boy (how delightful) as Draco slipped from the room. So the lover had no idea where he had gone. Semeuse smiled and slid his finger between Draco's lips stroking Draco's pink tongue. He felt his cock harden as he imagined this wetness wrapped around him and leaning in, he replaced his finger with his tongue, tasting Draco's sweet spit.

Every nerve in Draco's body suddenly came alive, he tensed and coiled, flying backwards and slamming into his father's case. He pressed his back hard against the glass, chin lifted, his nostrils flared wide. Every part of his body seemed to tremble in horror. His eyes met the Curator's and held his stare, his eyes wide and horrified and as dark gray as a coming storm.

Semeuse held the look for a long moment. Then he allowed his gaze to flick past Draco and rest on the Angel. He smiled, returning his attention to the boy. He smiled, pushed a little deeper into Draco's mind and stepped forward. Pushing strands of pale hair from Draco's brow he murmured quietly, "you will stay here. You will come and you will drown in my bed. You will writhe and moan beneath the ministrations of my mouth. You will stay here with your father."

Draco nodded, a tiny nod, not understanding, wishing he knew how to fight this. The Curator's mouth clamped down over his and sealed it. Siamese's tongue cleaved to his, tasting bitter and dead and carrying none of Harry's sweetness. Siamese's dry touch spidered down his body, finding their way beneath his robes and sort his groin. He felt the touch in the very depths of his body and he shuddered. He began to choke

The air in the room suddenly echoed with a resounding CRACK and the glass of the case behind Draco suddenly fractured. Semeuse stepped back. His eyes widened, his gaze darting quickly from Draco to his Father. It had to be the boy who did it, and if it was then he was more powerful than Semeuse could ever have expected from one so young. Given the curse and the bind, the boy should be incapacitated. Draco was breathing hard, his chest heaving.

"Trying to stop me Draco?" Semeuse smiled, "what have you to return to? A boy in a bed? Who is he to you? Nothing. This is the only family you have."

Harry, Draco had Harry. The name came to him forcefully, cutting through the haze and he struggled against the bind. Semeuse laughed and moved back in to claim his prize.

The case exploded. Shattering suddenly and blowing outward, showering the room in glass and embedding shards in the floor, the walls, into Semeuse himself, but miraculously missing Draco who had been pressed against it.

Semeuse cried out in pain, spinning away from the radiating fractures of glass, covering his face.

Draco drew breath, the curse fading from his body, he felt his will returning, the ability to move, he stumbled heavily against what was left of the pedestal.

Without the support of the glass, Lucius toppled backwards, flipping over and landing in a heap on the floor. Draco struggled to get to his Father, lifting him and staring into the gray eyes, once more intelligent and aware.

"D-D-r-a-c-o" Lucius' voice was dry and cracked, he breathed harshly, his heart was thumping in his chest, "r-run."

Draco tried to lift him, wanting to carry him out and suddenly a hand grabbed his arm. He turned, fearing it was the Curator again, but the Curator had fled, searching for the Aurors. The man behind him was Snape.

"You can't get him out now, we have to get out of here."

Draco turned desperately back to his father, "he…he…sp…he spo..."

"We'll come back, but we have to work out what is going on first." Snape looked around wildly, "Come on, we have to hurry, the Aurors are coming."

"We'll come back," Draco told Lucius, pressing a kiss into his father's forehead, "I promise we'll get you out of this."

But Lucius was gone again, dissolved back into whatever stupor bound him. Snape pulled desperately on Draco's arm and he released his father, leaving Lucius amongst the broken glass as he turned and fled with Snape.

**********************************************************************

 _NOTES:_

 _Thanks Ozratbag2 – you are the very best for Betaing this with such skill._

 _Thank you to all of the people who have reviewed, you guys really egg me on to write more so please, review, make comments, all of those things!_

 _Now, story notes:_

 _Ron's "Rats in Paradise" remark is from The Birthday Party's 'Mutiny in Heaven' (which got me through a lot of shitty times)_

 _Hermione's perfume: Ingredients are for 'Shalimar' - my favorite scent._

 _Lucius is of course paraphrasing 'Desiderata' in his letter to Draco. I have always loved it and Lucius is full of surprises._

 _Snape's Green Dragon story is lifted – with liberties – from Sammy's monologue in Dog's in Space (Aussie cult movie)._

 _You can also visit my Live Journal: users/azraelgeffen/_


	23. The Party

**Disclaimer - See Prologue**

 **Chapter 11**

 **THE PARTY**

***************************** 

Madam Minerva McGonagall

Invites

Miss Hermione Granger, Master Harry Potter and Master Draco Malfoy

To herald the coming of the New Year

At

The Fenn

Salisbury, Wiltshire

10pm.

Dress, Strictly Decadent.

In sleep, Draco could feel his Father's eye turned on him. Watching him sleep, invading his dreams and taking up residence there. Lucius walked through the swirling haze of thoughts and dreams, sure-footed and strong, but as silent as the grave. In his minds eye, Draco could see his Father's face, turned to him from behind the glass of his prison, and that single eye, staring, glazed like a pale grey marble, beginning to cloud over, but still touched with some last spark of awareness.

Which left Draco begging one question; just where was Lucius now? Where was his father? Was he trapped there, in that body, condemned to sit in a glass box and watch the world pass judgment? Did he think and feel? Was he aware? Or had the very fabric of time stopped there for him?

"Dr-a-co – run"

Draco's eyes snapped open, suddenly jolted awake and with his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He clutched Harry tighter to him and inhaled Harry's clean, warm scent. Harry had not been at the museum, Harry had not seen or heard Lucius, Harry had not been there to witness Draco's shame at being unable to stop the Curator who had reached into his brain and ended all of his resistance. Harry knew nothing of these things – and if Draco had his way, Harry never would. Draco clutched Harry to his chest, the only thing that was precious to him, his talisman against the dark, and the only thing that could possibly bring him hope or give him a chance at a life beyond Hogwarts and his cursed family name.

And it has to end. He pressed his face to the back of Harry's neck and tasted warm flesh against his lips, felt the silky brush of hair against his eyelids. I don't want this to end; I don't want to let you go. You taste so good, you feel so warm.

Sunlight was streaming through the windows. It was the last day of the year. The last day of the worst year of his life.

And the best.

He felt Harry stir and stretch and roll on to his back. Draco released him and shifted to accommodate the movement, then propped himself up on his elbow to watch Harry sleep. He absently registered that his head ached slightly and felt too heavy on his neck somehow. He felt a little warm and wondered if he could possibly be getting sick.

He reached out and ran tentative fingers over Harry's boney shoulder, down Harry's chest, lingering on a pink nipple, and then over the corrugated rise of Harry's ribcage. Harry's skin was slightly damp with sweat and Draco pondered on the thought that they might both be sick. It made sense, they were awash with each other's fluids, and they would surely share whatever illness passed through the other.

"Are you sick baby?" he whispered to the sleeping form and pressed a kiss to the raw silk flesh of Harry's scar. Harry's brow was hot. "I think you might be."

Perhaps they wouldn't go to the party tonight. Perhaps they would stay home and stay in bed and eat chicken soup and complain of chills and aches and pains. For some reason he couldn't fathom, the idea was incredibly attractive.

Draco gently inched his hand along Harry's chest and found his solid heartbeat. What was he going to do without this? How was he going to leave this behind? How was he going to live when Harry looked at him with hate instead of love? He smiled as Harry stirred under his touch.

Harry awoke with Draco's hot mouth wrapped around a nipple and Draco's hand sliding along his thigh and gently teasing his already half erect cock. He felt hot and a little fevered, but that didn't seem to matter because Draco slid down and took his cock into his mouth and began sucking him. Harry sighed as the workings of Draco's tongue brought gooseflesh to his legs and arms, his small nipples were painfully hard and he sleepily reached down to stroke Draco's silky hair, letting him know he was awake – and that he should keep going. Draco's hands were pulling at his hips; his tongue probed him in a way that Harry could only consider relentless. As lovers they were near invasive of each other, determined to put fingers and tongues into every fold and hollow of each other's bodies, to taste and savor every available inch of each other's flesh.

It was exquisite and painful and, when Harry's hips bucked up and he came hard into the back of Draco's throat, it was earth shattering. Harry swallowed back the words he was aching to say, knowing he would not hear them whispered in reply. Instead they clung to each other, unspeaking, bathed in a fevered sweat and holding on to their secrets for just a while longer.

*****************************

Ron really didn't know what to wear to a costume party with Decadence as its theme. He really didn't want to go. His name hadn't been on the invitation, something he did not take offence to, although Ginny – and his Mother – had. Their reasoning was simple, the entire family had played their part in the war, the entire family should be invited to the party – the entire family was going. He lit a cigarette and lamented his inability to get out of it. A party at Snape's place. Now that would be a great occasion for joy and celebrating. He sneered and inhaled the opium tinged smoke.

So he was being forced to go. Forced to go and play happy families. Forced to go and be the dutiful brother when he was nothing more than a cretin. He had nothing to wear and no money of his own to buy anything. While he knew that his brothers would look resplendent and his sisters in law exotic and beautiful, he was reluctant to ask for anything from them – although it had never been a problem in the past. He had settled on plain black dress robes that had belonged to Percy. He was certain that Percy had only worn them once before he died. Probably purchased for some Ministry gathering, they were sombre and practical.

Ron didn't look good in the robes and he knew it. It didn't matter. He had become pale of late and had started to look gaunt, no doubt the result of his sudden inability to eat. No one had noticed, and his family was far too busy pretending that all was well and that Charlie and Percy were merely away working, not dead and moldering in the ground. Shadows from lack of sleep, played beneath Ron's eyes. He had spent his nights awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Charlie and waiting for Angelina to come – as she did like clockwork – to his room.

But she hadn't come last night and he had watched the dawn come with a growing sense of relief that momentarily calmed the gnawing guilt in his belly. He leaned back against the headboard of his bed and drew another lung full of smoke, closing his eyes and listening to the rain outside.

"Hey Ronnie."

He jumped, he hadn't even heard her come in, but now that she was, he wasn't surprised. Her gall would never surprise him again. She had her own kind of discretion. She chose her moments well. It didn't matter what time of day or night, Angelina would still come. He should have known that.

"What do you want Angelina?" he asked dully. The conversation always started this way.

"Now, now Ronnie, there's no need to be like that." She locked and warded the door, "I brought your medicine."

He eyed the needle she waved in his direction and felt his body tense. What he had once mistaken for some kind of opiate he now recognized as something of her own making, and over the past week she had decreased the opiate for her own special blend. "I don't want it," he muttered.

"Of course you do, you love it. I know you do." She sat beside him on the bed and pried the cigarette from between his fingers. "Why are you so defensive today?"

"I'm not," he lied. Every nerve end in his body suddenly jumped as her fingers trailed across his belly. She pushed the syringe into the meat of his thigh and he hissed.

Then he was hers. With little resistance he let her stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. "How do you feel?"

He couldn't answer, he shook his head wearily and exhaled, and then her mouth stopped his breath. Her lips smothered his, he tongue penetrated deep, too deep, tangling with his own tongue and then almost choking him. She pulled her top over her head and discarded it and he felt his hands slide up her body to her breasts, his thumb circling one crimping nipple. He felt his insides quicken and he forced back a groan.

Reality seemed so far away, like a dull lead weight that he was trying to lift into place. For now there was only the pleasure she was giving him and he accepted that as her hand slid into his pajama pants and wrapped around his cock. She moved down his body like a serpent and pulled his pajama pants down in a way that was now familiar to him. He looked down the length of himself and flushed with shame at the sight of his protruding cock, thick stemmed and hard, the foreskin rolled back over the purpling glans. She stared at it for a moment and then smiled up at him as her hand closed around it, then slid up and down, letting the jism act as a lubricant.

"You really do have a wonderful cock Ron," she breathed. "It's nice and thick, not like George's; his is longer, but it's narrow."

"Don't," he murmured, but he wasn't sure if he wanted her to stop what she was doing or stop talking about his brother.

Angelina lapped at the length of him, pressed her tongue into the slitted opening of his cock to taste the pre-cum that had gathered there and then, opening her lips further, she took the whole of him into her mouth. He whimpered, wanting to close his eyes. He knew he wouldn't. The sight of him pushing his cock up into her mouth was too enticing. He burned with guilt and pleasure.

She lavished pleasure on him, taking control of his body with as much ease as the drug had. She relaxed her hold and pulled away for a moment, taking in a gulping breath, she looked up at him. Ron's head was thrown back, his face poised between ecstasy and torture. He was whispering his mantra, she knew it well.

"No, please Angelina, please stop, please! Don't do this."

She chuckled and closed her mouth around his cock again, sucking him in deep, milking his orgasm from his body. She let him come into her throat, pulling back and laughing as a final burst covered her lips, cheek and chin.

Angelina stood quickly, her interest in him fading fast. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. There was no need for pleasantries, not now when she essentially owned him, it didn't matter how he felt. He would be a good boy and serve his purpose. Ron was pulling his pajama pants up over his narrow hips; he looked as though he would cry. It was a shame really. She liked him in a strange sort of way. If only he wasn't George's brother, they could have had something special.

"Just fuck off will you," he snapped viciously, hiding his shame at the tears that threatened.

"I'm better at this than you Ronnie," she hissed, "just watch your mouth." She pulled her top on and turned to go. "Oh, and Ronnie, your Mother says to come down to breakfast."

Harry had never felt more uncomfortable in the entire of his life. Well, that was not strictly true, there was the time he'd had to dance with Parvarti Patil at the Yule Ball, and then there was that fateful Valentines Day date with Cho – but this was definitely up there in those realms.

Non was standing back, hand on his hips, appraising him with a critical eye. He could only wonder how in hell Draco had talked him into this. He had no issue with going to McGonagall's New Years party. Hermione had begged them to go because she wanted to go and despite the fact that he really didn't feel well, he'd said yes. Then the issue of costumes had arisen. The theme was Decadence. They had no time to go out and buy anything, so they would have to make do with what they had on hand. Draco had a fairly extensive wardrobe, Harry had a trunk full of jeans and sweat shirts which he and Hermione had been living in. As nothing of Draco's would fit Harry or Hermione, it seemed they would be arriving looking like a couple of Muggle castaways. That was until Draco had struck on this idea. His parent's clothes.

Harry had drunk a potion to ease the symptoms of whatever sickness was causing his head to pound and his body to feel as though it were made of lead. It was breakfast time and Hermione was lamenting their sick state, demanding that they make themselves better in time for tonight. Then she had lamented the costume situation, obviously she was nervous, she wanted to make a good impression – Harry seriously believed she just wanted to get laid and she must've thought Snape would be picky or something because she wanted to look perfect – in an old sweat shirt and cut offs.

Then Draco had said; "Why don't you just wear something from my parents wardrobe, they have heaps of stuff."

Harry and Hermione had looked duly shocked.

"What?" Draco rolled his eyes, "they aren't exactly here to wear them now are they?"

When Harry had protested that nothing of Lucius Malfoy's would fit him, Draco put paid to the idea by informing him that he was about the same height as Malfoy Senior. Harry couldn't help himself, he had been mortified to discover that he shared his height with the Death Eater. It seemed absurd. Lucius Malfoy had always seemed so bloody tall, that he was only 5'10" – Harry's own height – seemed a travesty. Draco was a good three inches taller than both of them. It also meant that Harry would fit into Lucius' clothes, and that is where this uncomfortable situation began. Harry was standing in the centre of Lucius Malfoy's dressing room, dressed in the Death Eaters extremely tight leather pants.

There should be a law against men of a certain age owning leather pants.

What was even more distressing was that the pants fitted him remarkably well. Harry was certain that Lucius Malfoy had been built on a larger scale than him, stockier perhaps. So he could only wonder how the man had actually squeezed his arse into the damned things. They were inky black and laced up the side. Harry had no doubt they were probably cleaned using some kind of polish – and he hoped they had been cleaned since Lucius last wore them because the idea of his balls sharing the same space as Lucius Malfoy's balls was a little hard to take. Draco had teamed them up with a pair of heavy boots that buckled half way up Harry's calf. He looked as though he was about to kick some poor soul to death.

"Please tell me there is a shirt that goes with this," Harry said, trying to hide the quiver in his voice. He had never been one to stand out, he preferred people to either not notice him at all, (not a realistic possibility) or to just think he was very average. That was not going to happen in these pants. He needed a really long shirt.

Draco pouted. "It looks good without a shirt," he wheedled.

Harry looked down at himself. His hip bones jutted forward like two pale pyramids and the dark hair that trailed from his navel to his groin was stark against the milky white skin of his flat belly. The pants rode so low he could see the top of his pubis. "Not on your fucking life."

Draco sighed dramatically and pushed himself off the carved chaise. "Alright," he said, glaring witheringly at Harry, "I will find you a shirt."

Non was shaking his head again. "Your Father would not approve of this Master Draco," he said uncertainly. "He loved those pants."

"I know, I know. But he's not here to wear them and Harry needs an outfit for the party."

"Can't I try something a little less…revealing?" Harry asked, "how about one of those velvet frock coat things with the snakes for buttons?"

Draco ignored Harry's hopeful look and began searching through the cupboards. After a while he called to the elf to help him. "Non? What shirt did my Dad wear with those pants?"

Non looked blank. Shirt? What shirt? "He didn't wear a shirt with them Master Draco."

"See," Draco pointed out to Harry, "they're supposed to be worn just like that."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the whole idea. "Are you telling me that your Father, Lucius Malfoy, went out dressed just like this?"

Draco and Non nodded in unison.

Good Gods. The man must've been an exhibitionist from way back. Harry had never seen Lucius Malfoy in anything other than full Wizard regalia. Getting an image of him dressed like this was just way too much.

The old bastard would have looked really hot too.

Whoa! Get that thought out of your head Potter old boy.

"Here, try this."

Harry flushed and took at the scrap of material that Draco was holding in his hand. It appeared to be made of fishnet, or mesh, or something like that. It was impossibly small. Harry cautiously pulled it over his head – it stretched to fit.

Holy Shit!

"Wow," Draco breathed, "that looks so fucking sexy I could eat you."

"Sexy?" Harry looked at himself, "you think this is sexy?"

"Oh yeah."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope."

Harry looked at his reflection helplessly. "You do realize that I am wearing your Father's clothes here?"

Draco nodded, smiling, chewing on the pendant that Harry had given him for Christmas, obviously becoming aroused.

"Don't you think it's a little sick?"

Draco shook his head, still smiling, still chewing on the pendant that Harry had given him for Christmas, even more aroused.

"Tell me you are not thinking about your Father right now."

"Oh, I'm not thinking about my Dad right now." Draco chuckled and sidled over to Harry, marveling at the way the fishnet accentuated the contours of Harry's body, the way it revealed everything whilst giving the illusion of hiding it. By the Gods, Harry should get dressed up more often. He bent his head down and bit Harry's chest through the skin tight fishnet.

Harry gasped – and instantly discovered another reason why he really shouldn't wear these pants.

Non shook his head again and discreetly left the room.

*********************************************

"You are not wearing that." Minerva waved a hand in Snape's general direction and looked disgusted at his ensemble.

Snape looked down at himself irritably. "Why not?" He looked as he always did. Robes, black, end of story.

"You look as though you are about to teach a class, not see in the New Year," she pursed her lips and glared at him, "and you could have washed your hair!"

He flush pink and looked indignant. "I did wash my hair."

"Oh," Minerva flushed and then quickly returned to a disapproving state, "Well perhaps it is time to rethink your hair care products."

He scowled menacingly at her, she was beginning to sound like that awful Muggins woman from the Pharmacist in Hogsmeade who had chased him through the village with a bottle of Gilderoy Lockhart's Hair Dream.

"I'm sure Hermione would appreciate the extra effort." She smiled deviously at him.

Snape felt his stomach knot. He quickly ran down his mental checklist. Champagne, check. Clean sheets, check. Candles, check. Clean underwear…check.

"You have to own something a little more – fancy – than that."

He shook his head, unconcerned.

"At least let me do something with your hair."

"Not going to happen."

"Severus!" she whined.

"Minerva!" he mimicked.

Minerva had out done herself. He was so used to seeing her at school functions in black or green and with rather ugly hats. Tonight she had abandoned it all and had opted for a medieval brocaded gown in gold. She looked positively radiant, and Snape only hoped that Dumbledore would notice. This was her party and she wanted to look stunning. The problem was that she wanted him to look stunning as well – and he was letting the side down miserably. In cases such as this, there was only one tried and true method to get his compliance. Nag him until he said yes.

"I have a costume you could wear."

"No."

"Please, it's very dignified."

"No."

"Then let me brush your hair."

"No."

"I'll tell Dumbledore you're sleeping with a student."

He glared at her and Minerva smirked. Nagging, blackmail, it was all good.

"Dumbledore already knows," he said uncertainly.

"No, he suspects, but there is a world of difference between him knowing and suspecting. And, if tonight is, as I suspect it is, the night, you're going to need me to keep him distracted for all those hours."

"Hours?" Snape snorted, "Minerva, I haven't had sex for ten years, I'll be lucky to last three minutes."

"Regardless," Minerva laughed, "If I tell him what's going to happen, you won't even get that much."

"You wouldn't dare!"

Minerva smiled sweetly, "try me."

Hermione could not breathe. The reaction was a combination of her awe at her own reflection in the mirror and the fact that the corset she was being laced into was incredibly tight. She had never had a cleavage of which to speak, now she had tits she could rest a dinner plate on. It was quite unbelievable – and all it cost was the ability to breathe and surely a couple of broken ribs.

The gown was awe inspiring. Hermione couldn't really believe she was wearing it. She could now see that her own modest selection of evening robes were a pitiful blemish in comparison to the offerings Narcissa Malfoy had in her dressing room. Hermione was beginning to understand exactly what being a Witch could allow her to get away with when it came to her daily wear. She had always tried to stay simple and discreet. She was, after all, a Muggleborn and her parent's world was that of jeans and sweat shirts and trainers – and unruly hair tied in a pony tail. Hermione was a remarkable Witch, but she never looked the part. Searching through Narcissa Malfoy's closets had been an experience unto itself, and she had no doubt that Lavender would have given her right arm for the privilege.

The dressing room was separated into categories. Category one: Home clothes. Category two: Day clothes. Category three: Entertaining clothes. Category four: Evening wear. Category five: Party clothes. Category six: Ball gowns. Category seven: Shoes. Category eight: Hats. Category nine: Jewellery. It quickly became obvious to Hermione that Narcissa choice of 'home clothes', things she would just lounge around in, were akin to Hermione's dress robes and everything else was well out of Hermione's league. She was about to settle with something from the 'entertaining' category, something elegant, modest and green, when she had seen the red gown in with all of the other ball gowns. At first she considered the idea ridiculous, then it grew on her. Strapless and corseted, its full skirt brought images of seventeenth century France to her mind. It was a fairy tale gown in blood red velvet and she was in love with it.

And now, thanks to the heavily boned corset, she could barely breathe in it.

Posie had carefully applied her makeup and was now twisting her hair into an intricate design, as beautiful and as fairytale like as the gown itself. She wore her fairy pendant around her neck and a glamour was cast across her shoulder to hide the dark purple wound that Krum had caused and no amount of charms would heal. The perfume, so delicately made for her and her alone, scented her skin. She felt more beautiful than she could ever remember. She was entirely unlike herself, as though the glamour had been cast over her entire body and not just her shoulder.

She only hoped Severus liked the effect. She could feel a well of fear inside her. He had written every day since Christmas, always signing 'I love you" at the end, which made her smile and blush and her heart swell in her chest. Sometimes she found herself standing on her balcony wrapped in Draco's dressing gown and staring down at the Fenn, straining her eyes to see through the windows for any sign of movement. One morning a black clad figure came out and stared back – she had waved – he had waved in return – and she had gone into the house with a smile and a soul that had been warmed.

Now that she was going to see him, she felt her nerves rise. For the first time the very fact that he was her Potions Master and so very much older than she came to her with a cold fist of reality. She had been so busy convincing him that these very things didn't matter, that she hadn't really considered them herself. This was Snape by God! Snape! Nasty Snape who had been habitually mean and taken her intelligence and her bloodline as an insult to all Wizard kind. And now he was her boyfriend. Professor Snape was her boyfriend – although the very term seemed an affront to him. She would have laughed – had she been able to breathe.

With the corset properly laced, Hermione took in her reflection one last time and felt satisfied. Krum had tried to destroy her, instead he had given her something that made her a thousand times more powerful. She was strong and sensual and beautiful. She was loved. She stared at herself and realized she had been transformed in many ways.

It was getting late and she really needed to go downstairs. No doubt Harry and Draco were ready. It had been strange living in this house for the last week. Strange living with them. She had never met two people who could bicker with such incredible vindictiveness and then make up so passionately – and they fought about the smallest things. Harry loved him though, of that Hermione was certain. She could see it in his face, his eyes, the way he seemed to glow whenever Draco was in the room. It was almost sickening.

How Draco felt she couldn't tell. Since Boxing Day he had seemed in turns distracted, irritable and then suddenly affectionate. Harry had questioned him about his trip to the Museum and he had answered abruptly that it was awful and to drop it. Harry and Hermione both assumed that seeing his Father had traumatized him and they wished he hadn't gone to do such a thing alone.

She thanked Posie kindly for her help, a gesture that still flabbergasted the small elf, and headed for the stairs. She had no idea how she was supposed to get down them without stepping on the gown. It was too voluminous to lift daintily. She wondered if such gowns came with instructions and then checked herself. Narcissa Malfoy no doubt spent years perfecting her techniques for walking around in such gowns, Hermione had a matter of minutes. She bunched up the gown inelegantly and hoped there would be no stairs at the party.

**************************************

Harry was already pacing the parlor when Hermione made her rather awkward entrance. She dropped the gown and her jaw in unison.

Oh – my – Gods.

What on earth was he wearing? Only the single most revealing pair of pants she had ever seen. She could see the two little dimples where the base of his spine disappeared and his flesh began the curve of his butt! Then he turned around and she did a double take. Now she could see the dark hair that led from his navel into the incredibly low slung band of the pants. Harry had grown up! Harry had – Harry had – Harry had pubic hair! Of course, she knew he would, she just never thought she'd get to see any of it.

Dear Gods, Harry looked sexy. Harry wasn't supposed to look sexy. Harry was supposed to be sweet and bespectacled and dressed in baggy cast offs from his cousin. He was not supposed to be standing there in figure hugging black leather and fishnet. Draco had obviously hacked into his hair because it was shorter on the sides and stuck up like some kind of modern day Mohawk on the top. The back was bunched into a story pony tail. The glasses were gone, and in their place was eyeliner. Lots and lots of black eyeliner. He looked like a glorious green eyes raccoon. Only slutty. And very sexy.

She felt her mouth overload with saliva and she was forced to swallow. Please, oh please Merlin, please let someone take a photo of that.

"I know," he smiled, "I look like a fucking freak."

"You look…you look…" she swallowed again, gulping hard on the drool swamping her throat. "You look absolutely incredible."

He frowned, not entirely sure it was a good thing. "I can't see a fucking thing. Draco says I can't put my glasses on until we get inside. I'll probably fall arse over trying to find the door." He fumbled his way to the table and found his glasses, quickly placing them on his nose and blinking. "Wow! Holy shit Hermione, you're beautiful." He laughed in wonder, "you look really beautiful."

"Thanks," she blushed, "it's the dress."

"No," he was quiet for a moment, "It's you. It's all you. The dress is nothing but an embellishment on what is already there."

"Thank you." She hugged him, drawing him close. Merlin, he felt as good as he looked!

"'Mione?"

"Mmm?" she replied, unwilling to let him go just for a moment, he smelled good, he felt good, he…

He pulled away, "Can I put my glasses in your purse?"

"Of course you can." She let him keep them on for the time being, deciding it would be best if he didn't have an accident with a table before even leaving the house. Let him get drunk and fall off the table later. He had been known to do that in the past. "Where's Draco?"

"Getting ready," Harry rolled his eyes, "he took ages with me, so by the time he finishes himself we will probably have missed midnight."

She laughed and felt her stomach flip. She really wanted to be there before midnight, but Harry was right, Draco's vanity knew no bounds.

Draco arrived moments later but he wasn't dressed for party going. He looked stressed and upset. His lower half resembled Harry, boots and leather pants. On top he wore a long baggy shirt that looked as though it had been grabbed from the laundry hamper. "You two go, I'm not feeling very well…" he looked around, his eyes were glassy and he hugged himself defensively. "I'm going to stay here."

"What's wrong?" Harry was at his side in a second, all humor gone from his face.

"Nothing."

"What is it."

"Nothing!"

"Well you wanted to go three hours ago, you've done your hair and you have your pants on, why have you suddenly changed your mind."

Draco looked uncomfortable. "I don't like my outfit."

"You just need to change your shirt."

"I wasn't planning on wearing this shirt."

"Then what shirt did you want to wear?" Harry was exasperated, this was like pulling teeth!

Draco bowed his head, "I wanted to wear a shirt the same as yours, but I can't get the glamour to work."

"Why do you need glamour?"

Draco glared at him incredulously. "So I don't go looking like a fucking mutant you fucking imbecile!"

Harry opened his mouth to yell something in reply – and then he remembered and frowned. He turned to Hermione who was wondering exactly how Draco Malfoy could ever look like a "fucking mutant," and tried to smile. "You're pretty good with glamour's aren't you?"

"Yes," she nodded uncertainly, "reasonably."

"Could you disguise, say, a big area of skin?"

"I guess so."

Draco pulled away from Harry. "Don't worry about it, I'll find something else and I'll come later."

Harry knew full well if he didn't come now, he wouldn't come at all. "Sit down." He forced Draco onto the lounge and moved him so that his back was to Hermione. He watched as Draco's features passed from being upset to being suddenly fearful and he sat in front of him. "It's ok," he whispered, "we're your friends, you have to learn to trust your friends."

Hermione frowned a little and moved closer to them, "what's going on?" she asked. Draco looked as though he wanted to throw up.

Harry gently unbuttoned Draco's shirt and pulled it from him, revealing the purple mess of his back. "Do you think you can disguise that?"

Hermione felt her insides melt in horror, tears stung her eyes and she could not stop the sharp intake of breath that caused Draco to flinch and Harry to pull him tightly into his arms.

"Can you?"

"It depends," she swallowed hard, "what caused it?"

Harry lifted Draco's head. He had never asked, although he had always wanted to know. He had doubted that Draco would tell him. "What caused it?" he repeated softly and Draco sat back from him, head bowed. For a moment they feared he would say nothing and then quietly he finally answered.

"Madragora Acid."

Oh dear Gods, who had done that to him? Who could be so vicious? "I…" Hermione faltered, "I can't Draco, no one can."

She watched as he pulled his shirt from Harry and wrapped himself in it. So that was why he always kept himself fully clothed, why he bathed at a different time to everyone else, why he had slept in a t-shirt and dressing gown that night she had first stayed here.

"What is Madragora Acid?" Harry asked, not particularly wanting to show his ignorance, but wanting to know what it was more.

"It's more of a bacterium than an acid. It was made in the 40's by Norton Madragora for the Wizard Grindelwald, to torture his enemies. A little can do a lot of damage; it eats flesh. A lot of it could actually eat an entire body." She looked at Draco. "It's illegal to make it now, who did this to you?"

"No one of consequence." He was heading for the door, Harry in pursuit.

*****************************

Considering the rather dubious start to the evening, the carriage ride to the Fenn was far more cheerful than Hermione could have expected. Draco had decided on a black body top with "It Don't Help To Be One Of The Chosen" emblazoned on the front, and he spent most of the carriage ride stuck to Harry's face, something that Hermione found uncomfortably arousing to watch. At one point she was convinced that they were going to abandon all pretense of going to the party, and shag right there in front of her. She tried to avert her eyes discreetly, but when a foot jabbed hard into her knee she was forced to plead with them to stop, for the sake of her gown, and the fact that the rocking of the carriage was making her feel sick. She didn't know why they had to get the carriage anyway, the Fenn was not far away, and they could have Apparated. Draco had insisted on a carriage however, and as they neared the house she could see why. A dozen or so similar carriages were lined up outside the door; it appeared to be de-rigueur to arrive in such style.

Harry had become so used to the House Elves doing anything and everything the Master desired that he was surprised when the door to the fairytale house of Snape was opened by a girl barely dressed as a water sprite. Both he and Hermione gaped, taken aback by the scantily clad maiden in the entirely transparent scrap of fabric. Draco, on the other hand, grinned wolfishly, all thoughts of the man he had recently been molesting seemingly lost in a flash of curvy flesh and jiggling breasts.

"Well hello!" Draco drawled, looking very much as though he would devour the girl whole. He turned back to Harry with a look on his face like a child in a candy store – only to be met with a stony stare from his lover. The smile faded instantly and he pulled himself into check. The girl giggled – and jiggled – and ushered them through the door, where two more similarly clad girls were waiting to check their invitation and take their cloaks. Draco's eyes were beginning to glaze over, he looked as though he was in booby heaven. Harry cast a look down at his remarkably jiggle free chest and shuffled uncomfortably on the spot.

While their cloaks were being removed, the door girl and one of her companions perused the invitation. They looked at each of them in turn, quickly deciding who Miss Granger was, and then looking with some interest for Mr. Potter. The scar on his forehead was a dead give away, and as they raked their eyes appreciatively over his body and giggled, Harry felt his nerves increase. Draco was then subjected to the same treatment, but took it rather more admirably than Harry. Draco, of course, knew full well exactly how damn good looking he was whereas it didn't matter how many times Harry was told he was handsome, he never quite believed it.

"So" the door girl stared at Harry's scar, impressed, "you're Harry Potter?"

"Um," Harry shuffled, "yeah, that's me."

She turned to Draco, "and you must be the delectable Mr. Malfoy?"

The wolfish grin returned to Draco's face. The girl traced a slender finger up his arm. "If you get bored later," she ran her tongue along her inner lip, "I give really fabulous head."

"I'm sure you do," Draco grinned sleazily. Hermione was certain that Harry was about to wrench the girls tongue out of her head, right after he tore Draco's arms off. A vein seemed to be throbbing in his temple and she was certain his blood pressure had just risen a couple of notches.

"So later then?" The girl shifted her hand from Draco's arm to his hip, stroking his hip bone.

"Sorry babe," Draco slid his hand down her arm, "I'm practically married."

The girl looked at Hermione dubiously and scoffed rudely. She giggled and mouthed "her?" silently to Draco.

Draco's eyes shifted to Harry, who currently resembled a ball of fury and back to the girl. "Him," Draco said cattily, "and I can guarantee he gives better head than you."

The girl took a step back, looked shocked, giggled and looked shocked again. It took only a moment for her sexy demeanor to return. "Well, if you want to compare styles, just let me know."

While Draco looked as though he would be all too willing to become the human lollypop, he took Hermione's arm and turned back to Harry. "Come on scar head," he drawled affectionately, "are we going to this party or what? There is only so long I can flirt with the servants you know."

Harry glared at the door girl with a look that was pure unadulterated hatred and propelled himself forward to take Hermione's other arm.

To find the ballroom they had to follow the dancing fairies who were lighting the way and Hermione found herself feeling nervous and flustered and stuck between two men who were about to have an incredible spat.

"I don't fucking believe you," Harry was hissing, "you're a fucking slut."

"I wasn't going to do anything with her, it was harmless flirting."

Harry really didn't look convinced.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Take your glasses off, you look like a git."

He snatched the glasses off his face and handed them to Hermione who put them into her purse. He then veered off the wrong way and fell over a side table. "Well, I think I look like more of a git now," he growled. Draco and Hermione began to laugh uncontrollably, which only incensed him further as he groped around, trying to get up but not actually able to see anything in the dimly lit corridor. "Can I have my glasses back please?" he said angrily.

Draco took the glasses from Hermione and knelt down in front of Harry. For a moment Hermione feared Harry was about to punch him in the mouth as Draco, still laughing, put the glasses on Harry's face.

"You know something Potty?" Draco laughed.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"I really fucking love you."

********************************************

"Have you been to the Death Eater Exhibition yet?" Tonks was drinking champagne and had directed her question to Ginny Weasley, who was surreptitiously drinking champagne, and casting nervous glances around for her Mother who would no doubt slap her if she was caught. She had managed to grow into a beautiful young woman and the masses of long red hair served only as a crowning glory, as a result she was constantly surrounded by three older brothers who occasionally took on a threatening look, much like security guards in one of Diagon Alley's night clubs.

"No," Ginny sipped her champagne cautiously, "I really don't want to see it."

"I didn't either," Tonks sounded a little philosophical, "but I ended up there. It's pretty spooky. Malfoy is the worst of course, but everyone knows that."

Ginny remained oddly silent and stared into the top of her glass, which brought a sniggering from Fred and George.

"Don't worry Ginny," George sniggered a little harder, "I'm sure widdle Lucy is awright in la la land."

Ginny flushed and Tonks frowned questioningly, "What are you on about?"

"Ginny had a bit of a crush on Lucius Malfoy," Fred chortled.

"She even cried when he was sentenced," George threw in for good measure.

Tonks nearly choked on her drink. Crushes she could understand, she cast a glance at Remus Lupin and suppressed a sigh, yes, she could understand the mysteries of infatuation, but with Lucius Malfoy? "You have got to be kidding me," she said bluntly, "you had a crush on Lucius Malfoy?"

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Ron smirked maliciously.

Ginny flushed harder and stared at the bubbles rising to the surface of her drink. They were right of course, after the war she had dreamed about him, still dreamed about him in fact. He would come to her in the night and take her by force. She always surrendered, always became his willing victim. She couldn't go to the exhibition, she couldn't have the illusion shattered. "It wasn't a crush," she muttered, "I don't know what it was."

"They had a 'moment' during the war. Dad nearly freaked when she mentioned it."

"Nothing happened!" Ginny cried indignantly, "You just love to bring it up because it's embarrassing."

Tonks was well and truly confused now. What kind of a moment could Ginny have possibly had with Lucius Malfoy? She would have been sixteen when the last battle actually happened, hardly the time to be having a 'moment' with a man in his forties. "So what happened then?"

"It was nothing," Ginny said defensively.

"Yeah, you still mooned around the house for months after though." George was really enjoying this; it didn't occur to him that his sister was really becoming upset. "Do you want to tell it Gin, or should I?"

Ginny sighed, knowing full well that Tonks could get her version, or the highly inaccurate Fred and George Monster tale. "Well," she said slowly, not raising her eyes from her glass, "It was during the last battle…"

"Just after he'd killed our brother," Ron interjected and Ginny glared at him.

"If you say so Ron." She sipped her drink but it no longer tasted so good. "Anyway, Harry had gone after Voldemort and they were running up the stairs of this tower and Luci…Malfoy had gone after them, so a bunch of us went after him. Dumbledore had given everyone instructions that Harry had to finish it and we had to protect him at all costs. So we're after Malfoy and he was just unstoppable. It didn't seem to matter what hexes people were throwing at him, he was just deflecting them and doing a heap of damage while he was at it. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to get to the top of the stairs before him, I think he was fighting with Ron at the time. Then he was there, just coming towards me and I just lost it, I knew I couldn't stop him magically, so I just hurled myself at him. He wasn't expecting it because we fell down the stairs, the whole way to the bottom of the tower. I remember thinking; 'shit, this is it, I'm going to die with a broken neck.' Then I realized that he'd slowed us down somehow. It was like he couldn't stop us falling, but he'd slowed the momentum enough to minimize the damage. It was the strangest thing, we were kind of curled into this ball and he was holding my head, sort of protecting it. I guess it must've been instinct or something, who knows?" Ginny laughed a small sad laugh, it was almost affectionate. "Anyway, when we finally stopped he was lying on top of me and he pushed himself up and says, "Are you alright?" and I look at him and say "yes," and he grins at me, that same grin that Draco gets when he has been a real cheeky git and he says "that's good." Then he stuns me and takes off up the stairs."

Tonks was silent for a while and then she nodded impressed, "Well, yeah, that's a moment, I'd be willing to pay that."

Ginny smiled as Fred, George and Ron protested the legitimacy of it being a 'moment' and Tonks argued back with great energy and humor.

"So how'd it feel?" Tonks asked, laughing as she finished putting Fred well and truly in his place.

Ginny smiled mischievously, "pretty bloody good actually."

"Yeah," Ron sneered, "then you couldn't have him so you went and screwed the Ferret."

"WHAT?" It was a word said in unison and all eyes turned to Ginny who blushed furiously but glared defiantly at Ron.

"Actually Ron," she said, clutching her glass tightly, "I fucked Draco a good while before all the fighting began, so get off my case you shit."

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but he never got the chance. Whatever he was going to say was forgotten and what came out of his mouth was a strangled "Oh my Gods!" He felt blood rush to his face and was aware of a number of people doing double takes around him. Hermione had arrived, looking more than a little incredible, with Harry on one arm, and Draco Malfoy on the other.

And what in the name of all that was good and holy was Harry wearing?

********************************************

Please Go to Part 2


	24. The Party Part 2

**Chapter 11 – Part 2**

From the moment he stepped into the ballroom, Harry was inundated with people wanting to hug him, kiss him, speak to him, get him a drink, demand dances and, uncomfortably, grope his arse – damn these pants to hell. For a moment he was taken aback, not sure how to handle the sudden return to the spotlight. At Hogwarts everyone was pretty much used to him, and Draco, who cared little for his celebrity, paid attention to him for an entirely different reason.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me….

He was well aware he was hugging people he barely knew, and many he hadn't seen since the end of the war, and he was grinning like an idiot.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me….

Draco had no interest in standing off to one side and waiting for Harry, and amongst all of the adoration directed at Harry, he heard the inevitable remarks and looks cast at his form. The room seemed to whisper at him from all directions; "What's he doing here?" he felt the first traces of nervousness seep into him and he scanned the room in search of the one thing that was going to put him at ease. The bar. Once he found it he began to move in that direction – and was supremely grateful when Hermione, the subject of considerably less adoration than Harry, grabbed his hand and came with him.

Hermione wasn't deaf nor blind, nor hugging fifty or so people and so she grabbed Draco by the hand and squeezed tightly. She had to admire his courage. This was a party full of people who had fought to destroy everything Draco had held sacred, and this was certainly not Malfoy friendly territory.

They were making their way through the massive ballroom and she looked about the place in wonder. She had never been to a Wizards party before and she had to admit, the Yule Ball had nothing on this. Her dress was completely appropriate and not, as she had feared, over the top. The room played host to more people than she could imagine Snape would have known. What she had thought would be around two hundred, was in fact more like five hundred, each dressed in outfits more plush and decadent than the next.

A muscular young Wizard descended the stairs clad in tight leather pants and very little else, leading buxom witch in a slip of a dress, by a chain affixed to a collar around her throat. Two Witches dressed in black latex so tight it could have been sprayed on to their bodies, burst into laughter as the bondage couple passed, then turned to kiss one and other passionately. Hermione noticed with some shock that one of the Witches was Professor Delancet, the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor. Two stunning Witches in vintage ball gowns pushed past them, giggling over some obscene joke. It was only when they were close to them that Hermione noticed the angular shoulders and Adams apples and she felt a twinge of jealousy that two Wizards could get a better cleavage than she could.

Not that her cleavage looked all that bad tonight.

The Weird Sisters were performing in the ballroom, their music being interspersed with Muggle songs, a specific request from Albus Dumbledore. The band were louder than she had ever heard them, but despite the decibel level being well past painful, the room was crowded with people dancing, or standing around drinking, smoking and posing. Pockets of silence were dotted about the room, and groups were crowded into them, talking and laughing and generally catching up on life in general. Dozens of the scantily clad nymphs were milling about with drinks. Hermione could smell cigarette smoke, and mixed in was the unmistakable scent of Marijuana and something else, something sweeter.

"What's that smell, the sweet one?" Hermione yelled in Draco's ear.

"Opium." He yelled in return.

She scanned the room for Severus, knowing he had to be here somewhere. She figured that she should just look for black robes, but when she did this she only found Ron, who looked sour enough to be Snape, and Dumbledore, who had confounded all by coming dressed as a Death Eater.

"Can you see Severus?" She yelled and Draco scanned the room himself.

"There's McGonagall, she'll know where he is." He gripped her hand tighter and ploughed across the dance floor.

Professor McGonagall was dressed in an elaborate medieval gown, heavily brocaded and trailing along the ground. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, woven through a glittering gold wire head piece. She was fortunately standing in one of the quiet pockets and chatting to Aberforth Dumbledore, who had come as a goat herd. Hermione wondered if he'd brought a goat. When Minerva saw them heading her way she smiled and waved them over.

"Are you just getting here?" McGonagall was obviously already rather tipsy, "There's champagne on the bar…hold on, I'll get a nymph."

As if by magic (and no doubt it was) a girl appeared holding a tray of drinks. Draco grabbed a glass and handed it to Hermione, then he grabbed two more for himself, downing one in three quick gulps and then the other, placing the empty glasses back on the tray and getting himself two more before waving the girl away.

"Trying to catch up Draco?" McGonagall asked and laughed, she patted his shoulder and turned to Aberforth, "he was such a good little boy, who would have thought he'd end up drinking like a fish?"

Draco grinned and felt himself relax a little. Someone drunk and taking the piss in a good natured way he could handle.

"I like your shirt." Minerva slurred and then looking over the swarm of people that was Harry she added, "and I see you've dressed Potter as a slut."

"I like my men a little sleazy," Draco quipped and Minerva laughed heartily.

"To be honest darling, so do I."

Hermione listened to the easy back and forth with a note of envy, she was still trying to get used to the fact that Professor McGonagall was drunk and acting like – well – like one of them. Not a teacher at all tonight. She smiled and felt a little warm inside, if she was going to be with Severus, she might actually get to see this more often. They might actually end up friends.

"And you!" Minerva turned to Hermione and gabbed her by her waist, "you look ravishing. All in red too, Severus will be so pleased."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you Professor."

"No! Not Professor tonight. That's why I didn't want students here tonight." She cast a disdainful glare at the Weasley tribe. "Of course, some people ignore their invitations." She turned back to Hermione. "Call me Minerva, you'll have to get used to it anyway if you plan on shagging my best friend."

Hermione couldn't stop the laugh that came out of her and Minerva looked well pleased. "Thank you, um, Minerva. Um, where is Prof…Severus?"

"Merlin's balls, you haven't found him yet?" Minerva looked about, "Stay here, I'll go and find him. He was getting stoned the last time I checked. I think he'd given up on you coming."

Hermione glared at Draco; she'd told him they were more than fashionably late.

********************************

Harry honestly believed that nothing was going to dampen his mood. Everything seemed, finally, to be going along just as it should. He'd been waiting for years for this moment, to feel like the world was right and he was on top of it. Then again, he hadn't counted on Ron being at the party, but once he realized he was, Harry didn't see a problem with it. There was music, there was fun, there was alcohol in abundance and any number of really beautiful women milling about, Ron would be in paradise and no doubt in as good a mood as Harry himself.

He really wasn't prepared to the reception he received from his supposed friend.

"HI!" Harry grinned, he had just started on the magical tasting champagne and wondered if Snape had come up with the blend. If he had, Harry had underestimated his usefulness.

"Hello," Ron said sourly.

"I didn't think you'd be here."

Ron looked Harry up and down and his scowl deepened. "Obviously not, other wise you might have re-considered bringing your new buddy."

Harry felt his smile begin to fade. He cast eye around the dance floor until he found Hermione and Draco and took in the familiar angles of Draco's shoulders and the curve of his shoulder blade under the tight top. "He's not that bad Ron," Harry knew this was a useless tact to take, but he said it anyway, "if you'd give him a chance, you might actually like him."

"If liking him means I end up looking like a fucking rent boy," he raked his eyes up Harry disdainfully, "I don't want to fucking like him."

"It's a costume party Ron."

"I don't care what it is."

Harry shuffled on the spot and looked about the room, trying to think of something to say that would perhaps lead Ron into conversation and reconciliation.

"So, since when has he been your new best friend?" Ron demanded suddenly.

"What?" Harry frowned, "He's not my best friend, he's…" Well, what was he? Harry's lover, Harry's boyfriend, the person Harry was started to love above all others…Harry's best friend. Harry shuffled awkwardly.

"Look," Ron hissed, "Hermione can fuck him to her hearts content, and you can be his new best friend, but I am not going to forget that he is a fucking evil git, from a long line of fucking evil gits – and if you are going to be his friend, you might have to reconsider your friendship with me."

It was a challenge that Ron really didn't expect Harry to call him on and he was satisfied when Harry looked stricken. But then Harry stared at him with defiance on his face and pursed his lips. Ron could suddenly see the unthinkable on Harry's face. He was going to disregard years of friendship. Harry was going to choose Malfoy over him.

"I was hoping I could have both friendships," Harry said tightly, "don't make me choose Ron, you might not like the result."

"If you'd choose Draco Malfoy's friendship over mine, then you're not worth having as a friend."

Harry sighed heavily and nodded, "ok, fair enough"

Ron grinned triumphant.

"See you 'round." Harry turned on his heel and plunged into the surging crowd on the dance floor, leaving Ron in stunned silence.

********************************

Draco had discovered something wonderful, every time he wanted a drink, a nymph appeared to give him one. By the time Minerva returned with Snape he was tipsy, merry and chatting away to Aberforth about the merits of pub ownership. When Snape did appear, Draco dropped his glass and gaped with shock.

Hermione was doing very much the same thing. Severus was dressed up - really dressed up. As it turned out, Minerva had given him Dumbledore's costume, so Dumbledore had borrowed Snape's old Death Eater robes for the night. Severus Snape was as gaudily bedecked as a court jester and as bejeweled as a sultan. A long scarlet velvet coat fell floor length and beyond. He was Mephistopheles, Prince of the underworld and folly of Faustus. His hair was clean and shiny and the top had been pulled back from his face and tied into a pony tail. His skin seemed clear and dry. Minerva was incredibly proud of her creation, even if he had whined for five hours about it. Now he was incredibly relaxed, because he was incredibly stoned and Minerva feared he would not make a very good impression on the young Witch who had only just arrived.

She needn't have worried. Hermione was staring transfixed at the dark minion in front of her, but was utterly speechless.

"Mephisto himself?" Draco grinned.

Snape bowed gallantly, "the very same."

"Ready to give me my every desire?"

"Well now, you'd have to sell your soul for that."

Draco bowed his head and smiled, "I don't think my soul is mine to sell." He looked around to find Harry and nearly jumped out of his skin when he discovered that Harry had just bounded up behind him looking flushed, excited and glassy eyed.

"Great party!" he yelled, not realizing he'd reached a quiet spot.

"There's no need to yell Potter."

He looked incredulously at Snape, "Fuck me, you actually look alright!"

Snape sneered, but it was strangely lopsided. "So, I see you got bored of all your devoted fans and have come to plague us with your presence."

"Now, now Severus," Minerva was laughing, "don't be such a prick." She placed a hand either side of his narrow hips and swiveled him around to face Hermione and watched as all sneering fell from his face.

"Hi," Hermione whispered quietly.

"Wow." He shuffled nervously on the spot.

Draco and McGonagall exchanged looks. A nervous Mephisto was not particularly convincing.

*******************************************

"You don't look like your having much fun Ronnie."

Ron winced and wished she wouldn't call him that. He wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to have fun. He had just been dumped by the best friend he'd ever had in favor of a spiteful, nasty, and possibly murderous, arsehole – and now Angelina was sidling on up to him to take advantage of whatever plagued his mind. It had occurred to him that perhaps he should have made an effort with Malfoy, but it simply wasn't in him. He had spent years with Malfoy tormenting him, insulting his family, plotting against him, hexing him whenever he got the chance and finally, the bastard's father had destroyed so much of his happiness, leaving a hole in his soul that would never be filled. Now he was expected to forgive and forget? He just couldn't.

"Not speaking to me Ronnie?" Angelina chuckled, "how very unsociable of you."

"What's up?"

Ron tensed at the sound of George's voice and he swallowed dryly.

"Ronnie won't speak to me," Angelina pouted and picked at a fleck on George's Mad Hatter costume, "I must've done something wrong." She licked George's neck affectionately, "what do you think Boo, do you think I've done something wrong to Ronnie?"

George laughed as she pouted prettily. "How could you do anything wrong Pooh Bear?" He grinned at Ron, who really thought he was going to be sick. "Why don't you two go and dance? Just because Ron came as a Ministry official doesn't mean he has to stand there looking like one."

Angelina grinned, kissed George on the cheek and hauled Ron off to the dance floor.

******************************************

Tonks and Ginny had made their way over to Harry and Hermione, both were eyeing Draco with some interest, having been subjected to Ron's rant about Hermione's supposed love interest, they wanted to suss out the happy couple. Both had to admit, Hermione and Draco seemed quite comfortable in each others company, but did not seem couple like. They weren't even standing close to each other.

Harry had started in earnest on the champagne, and nudged Tonks towards Draco. "Do you know that you two are cousins?"

Tonks did and she flushed a little as Draco frowned, confused.

"On what side?" Draco asked, looking the girl with hair the color of Ginny's rather garish pink lipstick.

"Mother's," Tonks said, she smiled nervously, she really never countered on meeting her pure blood, bigoted as all hell cousin. "My mother was your mother's sister."

"Oh," Draco thought furiously, "So you'd be Nymphadora then?"

"Tonks!" said Tonks quickly, "Please, just call me Tonks."

"Your mother married a Muggle didn't she?"

"Yes," Tonks replied defensively, "So?"

"Nothing, I was just trying to remember why you weren't on our Family Tree." He saw her look grow threatening, "I didn't mean to offend you," he said quickly, "I'm sorry."

"So," Ginny jumped in, "you guys have been staying at Malfoy Manor? What's it like?"

Harry laughed heartily, "It's fucking huge!"

"Oh yeah," Hermione agreed, beginning to giggle herself, "I got lost the other day looking for a toilet, one of the House Elves had to come a rescue me."

"There isn't any where near as many House Elves as I thought there'd be though," Harry downed his champagne, "I've only seen four – I think. They're all starting to look the same to me."

"There is only four," Draco cut in, "There used to be five but scar head here set one free."

"There used to be fifty but someone decided to have a tea party with them." Snape began to laugh, then swayed. Minerva turned to him awkwardly, tripped over the hem of her gown and grabbed Snape's arm for support. He was obviously the wrong person to cling to, having had far too much to drink and smoke, they both fell to the floor, then sat there and both burst into hysterical laughter.

Aberforth shrugged and sat down beside them, which left their students and Tonks to stare openly at the two people they never thought would ever actually make complete idiots out of themselves in public. It occurred to Hermione that they weren't actually making idiots out of themselves at all, they were laughing about it, enjoying themselves. She dropped to the floor beside Severus and Minerva shoved him hard at her.

"Oh act your age you old bag!" Snape laughed, falling onto Hermione and lingering for a moment in her cleavage.

"My age?" Minerva snorted, "what a dreadful prospect, I'll be 79 next September."

"You shall shortly be losing your bloom!"

They both erupted into laughter again, rolling on the floor like a couple of juveniles.

Harry shook his head. "Honestly," he muttered, you can't take them anywhere." He sat himself down, cross legged on the floor and leaned forward (which drew the attention of Tonks, Ginny and Draco, all of whom could now see straight down the back of his pants and noticed with some interest that he was wearing a black thong). "Um, now, what did you say about a tea party?"

Draco began to blush, "Oh Gods, please don't."

"Well now you have to," Harry grinned, and dragged Draco to the floor, "cause it really sounds like you're about to embarrass the Ferret."

Snape got control of some part of his senses, raked his eyes over Hermione as though he might just eat her up and then smiled wryly. As Ginny and Tonks joined the party on the floor, he gave Draco an apologetic look. "I won't bore you with a detailed analysis of Lucius Malfoy's character because you probably have no interest in it and it's not really conducive to the story, but what you do need to know is that he had the biggest soft spot imaginable for his son and when Draco was little, it was worse. Draco was the single most spoilt brat of a child I have ever witnessed, and I've been teaching for almost twenty years. I have seen some spoilt kids before, but Draco won in that department hands down. Lucius used to carry pictures of the little shit everywhere he went and every second thing out of his mouth was about Draco. Draco burped, Draco spoke, Draco shat, Draco can say this, Draco can say that. And of course Draco was the most intelligent baby that ever was born. It was so incredibly irritating that you just wanted to slap his head the moment he opened his mouth.

Anyway, Lucius started losing his House Elves and he couldn't work out what the fuck was going on. I think in the space of a week, twenty disappeared. He was really getting frantic about it because the ancestry of these Elves serving his family was as ancient as the family itself and he really didn't want to be the one who lost them all. So he's looking into all of the old laws regarding the House Elves, checking to see if anything could have inadvertently set the little buggers free and he couldn't find anything. So, one night, after the numbers are really starting to dwindle, he's having a dinner party and there were about fifteen or so people there. After dinner everyone is sitting in the lounge, when this Elf walks through the room, dressed from head to toe in a blue romper suit, and goes straight out the front door without a backward glance. Now, we're all amazed at this, but Lucius recognizes the clothes and piss bolts upstairs, with the entire party in tow!

Now, you have to get the picture of Draco's bedroom, there were so many toys in that room that I'm amazed they could fit the bed in there, and that was just his bedroom, not his playroom. But toys weren't enough now, were they? Draco has this table set up, all laid out for tea and he's discovered that the House Elves are the same height as him. I think he was three at the time. So he's having a tea party – and his guests have to dress for tea. So he's pulling out these ridiculous little outfits that Narcissa used to get him on a daily basis, and he's dressing the Elves in them…and of course the Elves are promptly thanking him very much and walking out the door. The kid was all red in the face because he couldn't work out why his guests were leaving!"

Harry thought he was going to piss himself from laughing so hard. Hermione looked as though she was in serious trouble as the corset was so tight and she was laughing hard enough that her breasts almost popped out of the gown.

"Oh, Oh Merlin, Draco," Harry clapped Draco on the back, "you little House Elf liberationist you. Hermione will have you joining S.P.E.W. next."

"Oh get fucked, I was a little kid."

"Forty five House Elves he dressed," Snape smirked, "I have never seen someone go white and then red with the speed Lucius did. I think it was the only time he paddled your arse raw."

"Oh that is so cruel!" Minerva was laughing too though, "he was just having a dinner party like his Daddy!"

Draco was looking distinctly un-amused, this had definitely gone on quite long enough. He stood up and offered his hand to Minerva. "Professor McGonagall," he flashed his most dazzling smile, "would you like to dance?"

"Why Mr. Malfoy, I thought you'd never ask."

Draco grinned devilishly and dragged his Transfigurations Professor to the dance floor.

*****************************************

"What I don't understand," Ron was saying drunkenly, downing a shot of vodka in one gulp, "is why you hate him so much."

"Well," Angelina reclined against the bar, "you know the old adage about a woman scorned."

"Yeah, but…" Ron frowned as she got him another shot and poured a little something of her own into it, "do you really think he's cheating on you?" He took the proffered drink and sniffed it suspiciously.

"I know he is," she replied and sipped her own drink. "Are you going to drink that?"

"What did you put in it?"

"Nothing you haven't had before."

Ron, already drunk, decided that something else wasn't going to hurt him and downed the drink. She got him another.

"Besides," she said lightly, "there are other things, he's not so innocent."

"Neither are you," Ron pointed out.

"Well, that's true." She smiled and watched him drink the next shot, "but at least I have an excuse – he drove me to it."

Ron raised an eyebrow. He couldn't imagine this woman being driven to anything, as far as he was concerned, she did all the driving. The pleasant tendrils of a high had begun to invade his brain, lessening the drunken sensation. His body felt incredibly alive, he could feel the very air on his face, the feel of the soft wool of the dress robes against his flesh.

"Do you want to go outside?" she asked, "I don't think your Mother would be too impressed if I started smoking in here. She'll probably use it against me as a reason I'm not pregnant yet."

Ron considered the option. He really wouldn't mind a cigarette. He looked across the dance floor at his ex-best friend dancing with his sister. "Sure, why not?"

****************************************

Tonks and Ginny had dragged Harry and Aberforth off to dance, leaving Hermione and Snape alone at last. They sat in silence for a while, watching as Harry was once again swamped with people and getting drunker by the second. Finally Hermione felt the feather light touch of fingers caress the back of her neck and she smiled and sighed into the touch.

"You look so beautiful tonight."

"Thank you." She pushed herself along the floor to move a little closer to him, "you look pretty amazing yourself."

"I look like bloody idiot."

"No you don't," she breathed. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder blade. "Do you want to dance?" she asked, turning to look at him and wishing they were a thousand miles away, alone, wrapped in each other.

"No." He shook his head and looked down at her upturned face, unable to believe that this beautiful little thing was his. All his. His girlfriend. Oh dear Gods, he had a girlfriend!

"Oh," she flushed and chewed her lip. He didn't want to dance, so were they to sit here all night?

"Do you want to go somewhere a little less…crowded?"

She laughed suddenly with relief, "Yes," she emphatically, "I would love to go somewhere less crowded."

He stood and pulled her to her feet, then he out his elbow and raised an eyebrow. She took his arm and they navigated their way out of the room, stopping only to collect a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

****************************************

Draco leaned back against the bar and downed another drink. He had lost count of just how many he had consumed and although he was fairly sure he'd be incredibly drunk, he didn't feel it. In fact, he wasn't feeling good at all and the summer spent drinking his way through Diagon Alley was starting to come back to him with uneasy force. He wasn't feeling good. His easy banter from the beginning of the party seemed little more than a distant memory as he sat, alone and drunk, by the bar watching Harry dancing. In fact, Harry hadn't stopped dancing since he had stepped foot on to the dance floor with Ginny Weasley. Draco seemed to recall that Harry hadn't been that great on the dance floor the last time he'd seen him dance. Then again, that was at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts and that may as well have been an eon ago. Tonight he seemed to have boundless energy, a never ending line up of partners, and, Draco couldn't quite believe it, rhythm.

So Draco had settled in at the bar – and everyone had steered a wide circle around him. He didn't really blame them. He'd heard snippets of conversation, stories about the war being told sometimes as humorous anecdotes and other times as emotional sagas. These people had survived what Draco, through luck and an over protective Father, had been sheltered from. And while his Father had sought to protect him in any way he could, he obviously had no qualms about killing other people's children. Draco had come to the conclusion that if he could, he would steer a wide berth around himself.

He felt his entire body tense as yet another person glared at him as though he was Lucius. He guessed he did look like his Father, younger, taller. But the face was the same, the same nose, the same chin, the same grey eyes. He felt an uneasy certainty that came with knowing that someone really wanted to kick the shit out him. Only now it was most of the room. Nearby he heard his name mentioned. Malfoy. Said with venomous hatred. He flushed, wanting nothing more than to get off the bar stool and head for the door. He'd have to tell Harry of course. And that would mean navigating the dance floor and cutting in on what ever partner Harry was with and trying to explain himself over music so loud it could make a Muggles ears bleed. He stayed put on the bar stool, nursing his drink and hoping that Harry would fall and sprain his ankle.

A man passed him, turned his face and glared. He was older than Draco, in his forties perhaps, Draco couldn't tell, and scarred from battle. He bared his teeth and hissed and while Draco saw it coming, he didn't turn his face in time. The man spat, covering Draco's face in a mixture of saliva and bile. As he closed his eyes he heard the sound of laughter echoing around the bar and he picked up a napkin and wiped his face silently. It would not do to comment, this was a fight he could not win.

It was time to leave.

*****************************************

The view from the balcony of the North turret was spectacular. As Hermione sipped her champagne and gazed out over the view, she could see clear across the Salisbury plain. Stonehenge had been lit with colored lights by the Muggle Authorities so that it looked festive for the New Year festivities. Hermione felt her head lighten. The champagne was good quality, French and definitely magical in origin as it seemed to tingle on her tongue and she was feeling very happy from the first mouthful.

From behind, Snape pulled her to him and began to nuzzle her throat. She tilted her head to the side and smiled as his warm lips and hot tongue worked on the pulse point below her ear, his hands caressing her body through the velvet corset.

"That feels nice," she whispered, her voice catching as it became more difficult to breathe.

"It tastes nice," he murmured into her skin.

She smiled and chuckled softly and turned her head to capture his lips with hers. They kissed passionately, their tongues seeking each other and their bodies pressed hard together. She felt crushed against him, her chest was heaving and Hermione supposed for a moment that it was one of the purposes of such a corset, the heaving bosom in passion. She needed him, a week had been too long to wait for him and she was hungry for the taste of his mouth. She wondered if they could simply disrobe here, in this place and make love on the floor. It was not the romantic mating she envisioned, but she wanted him so desperately, she would make do. He was moaning softly, breathing the milky white air from deep in her throat.

"I want to fuck you," he whispered crudely and regretted his lack of control. His cock was hard and straining against his pants. Severus wanted to lay her back and spread her legs wide and see her vagina, glistening with the wet heat he had caused, and he wanted to finger her, lick her clit to a hardened point and drink her juices. He wanted to bury his cock inside her. He was so horny it hurt.

"I want you to fuck me," she gasped in reply, "I want to feel your cock moving inside me."

Snape made an animal growl in his throat and nearly threw her down on the flagstones. "Do you have any idea what you do to me woman?"

"If it is anything like what you do to me, I'm in trouble." Her eyes were smoldering, her lips swollen from kissing. They were aching for each other with such a fierce intensity that both of them felt as though their very flesh was on fire. He pulled her against him, crushing her body to his once more and almost smothered her with his mouth. Without breaking the kiss he swept her up into his arms and carried her away.

************************************

"So, Harry dumped you for Malfoy?" Angelina had no idea how long they'd been outside, and it didn't really matter. No one had come looking for them and Ron evidently didn't want to go back inside. They had cast a warming spell and she'd conjured up a blanket to sit on. She inhaled on the joint she had in her hand and passed it to Ron.

"Yeah, he dumped me," Ron inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs as long as he could. "He didn't even have to think about it."

"People grow apart," she said philosophically.

"I know that, but we grew apart suddenly overnight."

Angelina nodded and smoked quietly for a while. She really had no interest in Ron's problems with Harry. She liked Harry, she like Harry a lot and if Harry wanted to be friends with Draco Malfoy, then that was Harry's choice. Angelina didn't have Ron's history with Draco, she also didn't quite believe that it was Lucius Malfoy that had killed Charlie. All they knew was that it was a blond haired Wizard – and there were other blonds out there other than the Malfoy's. At his trial, Lucius Malfoy had admitted to killing a lot of people, but he hadn't admitted to Charlie's death. At best he said he couldn't be sure.

She enjoyed the feeling of being high for a bit, the numb awareness that everything was different. The stars were beginning to glow in the sky and she rested back against the stone wall of the alcove, enjoying the coolness against her flesh. "Maybe he's gay," she said suddenly.

"George?" Ron said, confused.

"No you twit, Harry."

"Harry?" Ron looked at her incredulously, "what the fuck makes you think Harry is gay?"

"Well, according to Tonks. He's been staying with Malfoy since before Christmas, so he went there, not London."

Ron scowled, just another fact to add to Harry's betrayal.

"And he was dancing to that Muggle 'Man after Midnight' song with a lot of enthusiasm."

"It's called 'Gimme Gimme Gimme' – and he's been dancing to everything."

Angelina shrugged. "And Malfoy really is hot."

Ron coughed and choked on the sweet smoke. "Malfoy is a Ferret faced git…and none of those things means that Harry is gay. It just means his judgment is lacking at the moment. Besides, Malfoy is with Hermione – and Harry has a girlfriend."

"So where is she?"

Ron shrugged, "probably a student, McGonagall didn't invite many students."

Angelina smiled, "Now Malfoy with Hermione Granger, that is completely unbelievable. She's so fucking dowdy."

"She looks pretty bloody fine tonight."

"That's true – must've been using the Malfoy millions to make improvements."

Ron snorted with derogatory laughter and Angelina caught his chin, turned his head and kissed him gently, sucking on his bottom lip. In truth, she hadn't planned this. She had decided to make him a little horny, but had thought the party a little too public to actually do anything. But Ron was very cute, and she knew she could have him, and the power over him turned her on no end. Ron had sighed and leaned into the kiss and she nudged his lips open with her tongue and slid into his mouth. He was responding to the kiss, she could hazard a guess that he was responding to the gentleness of it. So Ronnie wanted a gentle lover. She almost wished she could give it to him.

He pulled away, "Ange," he whispered huskily, "we can't keep doing this."

"Yes we can," she murmured and slid her hand into his robes, finding his bare chest and placed her hand flat against his heartbeat. She kissed him again, harder this time, more insistent, probing his mouth with her tongue, exploring teeth and gums. She moved her hand down his body, unbuttoning his robes as she went and finally she cupped his balls through his underpants, gently squeezing the sensitive sac. He moaned low in his throat.

"That drug you make?" he whispered, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was now hard and straining against his cotton underpants, "what's in it?"

She laughed softly and licked the side of his throat in much the same way she had doe to George earlier, "lots of good things, things to make you feel pleasure."

"Does it…does it drain your will?"

"It makes you mine," she teased and Ron heard a grain of truth in her voice. Just why she would want to make him hers he did not know. She didn't love him, she treated him with little more than contempt, something she had power over. As she lifted his robes and pulled his pants down, freeing his cock from its prison, he wondered where it all would end. It wasn't a thought he liked to speculate on.

***********************************

Hermione slipped an arm around Snape's neck and nestled her face into his throat. It felt good to be in her arms. Safe and secure somehow. For the first time in her life she was glad she was so small, he carried her easily, all traces of his drunken high banished from him. She gently stroked his cheek, tracing his lips with her fingertips before pulling his face to hers and sliding her tongue between his lips. He didn't break stride, and she pulled away from the kiss, afraid he might accidentally dump them both over a balcony.

"So, you've decided to sweep me off my feet then Severus?"

He smiled and squeezed her lightly, relishing the feel of her body in his arms and the velvet under his hands.

"Where are we going?"

"To bed." He kissed her forehead.

"Going to have your wicked way with me?"

"And then some."

He was carrying her down a darkened corridor, narrow and cold. The sound of the party was fading as the descended deeper into the house. He pushed a door open with his foot and Hermione found herself being carried through a large warm kitchen. Three House Elves bustled about and she felt her stomach knot uncomfortably. So he had House Elves. She wondered if he treated them well. For Snape's part, he was amazed he had finally got to see Melville Junior. And just how similar Melville Junior looked to Melville Senior – he could well have been served by the son and never noticed the difference.

From the kitchen he carried her the back way to the family quarters. Un-noticed by anyone, they slipped down the hallway to his bedroom door, which sprang open as he approached and Severus carried her inside. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat and suddenly she felt that she was ten years old again and walking into the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the very first time.

He had enchanted the room. It was night and the bed seemed a solitary object, on the edge of a precipice and surrounded by the night sky. The white curtains seemed to glow almost blue in the light of the stars and the moon. If she looked closely she would have seen the borders of the illusion. A fireplace, the faint outline of a window. But these things were barely noticeable as clouds swirled around them. The stars were impossibly bright, the greatest things she had ever seen and the breeze that blew gently was warm and fragrant. It was summer in this room.

It…" she felt herself close to tears, "It's so beautiful. Did you…did you do this for me?"

"Oh no, I always like to sleep in the great outdoors," he replied cynically – and the silently berated himself. This was not the time to be his usual cynically bastard self. It had taken him four days to get the sky right and it had been an arduous task. The Great Hall at Hogwarts had been perfected over centuries, he'd had less than a week. The damned stars kept him awake and he had been forced to remove the sounds of birdsong as the constant squawking had almost driven him insane. It had only been at four that morning when he had finally worked out a charm to turn the stars on and off at will.

Still, Minerva had assured him that Hermione was enamored with the Great Hall ceiling and he was determined to make this perfect for her. Even if that meant having to put up with clouds wisping past him every five minutes.

Her rested her gently on the bed and she sank into its softness. He stepped away from her, wanting to see her there, lying on his bed. She looked so beautiful, so perfect. He was having difficulty believing she was really there, in his bed, in this house. It seemed and impossibility.

He bent to kiss her, to taste her lips again, when a male voice stopped him, made him freeze and chilled him.

"Severus? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Navigating the dance floor was, as Draco had feared, a near impossible task. He had debated simply going and not bothering to tell Harry. It was not as though Harry would notice he was gone. Potter was having too much of a good time to notice much at all and Draco certainly didn't expect him to leave on his account. Still, just leaving him there seemed wrong, and he had to admit that Harry had a jealous streak as green as his eyes. He would probably think Draco had disappeared with the girl from the door. Regardless of whether Harry chose to come home tonight or not, he could at least be put at ease to know that Draco had gone home alone.

Now the only problem was actually getting to Harry. Unfortunately Harry was bobbing up and down in the middle of a huge group of people and Draco could see his messy black hair appear and disappear then appear again over the heads of the crowd. He aimed himself in Harry's direction and started walking, ignoring the snide remarks as he squeezed through the masses, never letting Harry's head out of his sight. Occasionally he ran into someone and while he apologized, he usually found himself given a good elbow in the ribs for his efforts and eventually he discovered that he had veered well off course and had ended up in a pocket of silence and nowhere near Harry at all. He spun on his heel and tried to head back into the crowd, only to run heavily into a solid mass of a man.

"Excuse m…" the words died on his lips and he felt himself swaying. He was suddenly sober and his legs felt like nothing beneath him. Alastor Moody's Magical eye swiveled and took in Draco's form and suddenly he was face to face with the grizzled old Auror.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Moody spat his name out as though it were some foul poison, which it no doubt was to these people. Draco breathed, trying to keep it even, trying to remain calm.

"I was invited," he drawled. He was trying to sound confident, even though he didn't feel it. He knew he was failing miserably.

"Now why would a piece of shit like you be invited to this little shindig

Because I'm fucking your hero up the arse, you wanker. Draco took a step back and realized that he had managed to back himself up against a pillar. "I was invited," he repeated, then added; "with friends," hoping perhaps Moody would leave him alone if he thought Draco had friends nearby. It was a vain hope.

"Not very discerning friends I see." Moody had his wand out and Draco stared at the end of it, transfixed. Draco had his own wand in his pocket, shrunk down to be carried easily. It probably wouldn't be a good thing to pull it out on Moody, not here anyway. He would probably be little more than a puddle of mush before he'd even get the first shield spell out.

"I…I'm leaving now." Draco straightened himself up, but he was shaking and he was fairly certain Moody could see that.

"I would if I were you," Moody growled and then suddenly he chuckled. "Wouldn't like any nasty accidents to happen now, would we?"

Draco swallowed hard, "n-n-no."

"I mean, there are a lot of people here, a lot of people who don't like you. Be a shame for one of them to say, accidentally spill a drink down that nice back of yours eh?" Moody and leered in with his magical eye, "but it ain't such a nice little back anymore, now is it?"

Draco felt as though he had shrunk into himself and his insides quickened. "I'm going now," he said quietly, in a voice that was hoarse. He made to walk away, to move past Moody and head for the door, but he felt the man's wand trace down his spine and he froze and whimpered and hated himself for it.

"Alastor!"

Draco felt relief swamp him as Minerva was rushing towards them. She snatched Draco away from Moody with more strength than Draco knew she possessed. Her face was stern, and her mouth was nothing more than a thin slash across her face.

"Alastor," she said again, but this time it was calmer and with no small amount of disdain, "you came, how interesting."

Moody bowed stiffly and pressed a kiss to Minerva's hand. "You look ravishing tonight Minerva," he said gruffly, "I hope Dumbledore knows how lucky he is."

"Yes, I'm sure he does," she said dismissively, "what are you doing here?"

"Well, my invitation must have been lost in the post, and I knew you'd be upset if I didn't show." He smiled horribly, "now I can see it was a good thing I came. Looks like I can evict some unwanted," his eye swiveled to Draco, "rubbish, for you."

Minerva pulled Draco closer to him and he felt her stroking his hip. There was nothing sexual in the touch, it was calming, trying to stop his trembling. "Actually Alastor, I would prefer you left the invited guests alone. Especially this one."

"Perhaps you should re-think your invitation list Minerva. You're letting scum through the door."

"No, I'm afraid the terrible excuse for a door girl did that."

"You need to be careful Minerva, after all, like Father, like Son."

"The war is over Alastor."

"Tell that to all the people the Malfoy's destroyed. They should have executed the lot of them."

"Draco did nothing wrong!"

"There's no harm in taking precautions."

Minerva slid her arm firmly around Draco's waist and turned him away. Whispering quietly, "Come along dear, don't listen to him," she lead him away from the dance floor and out of the ballroom. There was a small sitting room, hidden behind the paneled walls, which was quiet and once she got a fire going, it was cozy and warm. Draco stood in the centre of the room, silent and still whilst Minerva watched him for a moment, trying to reconcile the young man in front of her with the over confident young brat that had walked into Hogwarts more than seven years before.

He did look like his Father. Like Draco, she had heard the comments and she had been questioned on her decision to invite him. She now began to wonder if it had been a good idea. She had gone looking for him because she had been told that someone had spat on him – only to find him being threatened by Moody, someone she was sure scared him half to death, and with good reason. Still, she had to agree, he was like Lucius. Or at least what Lucius would have been like if he'd had a couple of hard knocks in his life. As a student, Lucius had been clever and smart, but certainly more sure of his abilities than his talent warranted. As a person he was good looking, sharp, popular and mean. Minerva would have said that Draco was just like him. Had the war gone the other way, she had no doubt that Draco Malfoy would currently be living the high life and occasionally dancing a jig on Harry Potter's grave.

But the war hadn't gone that way, and Draco was here, trying to fit in with a group of people who would never accept him in the role he had taken on. The lover of Harry Potter. Most people thought Draco Malfoy had gotten off too lightly – most people didn't know the half of it.

"What's going on?" Harry burst through the door, red faced and out of breath. "Dumbledore said something had happened to Draco."

"I'm fine Harry," Draco muttered irritably, "go back to your friends."

"What happened? Dumbledore said Moody upset you or something."

"It's nothing, it's fine."

Minerva looked from one boy to the other and spoke before she could stop herself. "He doesn't know?" she said to Draco.

"Leave it!" Draco snapped, he began to pace, "just leave it alone, it doesn't matter."

"What don't I know?"

"Nothing," Draco hissed angrily, "don't worry about it, go back to the party and dance with all those fucking people."

"Draco, what's going on?" Harry frowned, unable to comprehend what could be so bad that he'd be in this mood.

"Nothing is going on, I'm going home. I'm tired, I feel sick, and I just want to go home."

"But," Harry pushed his damp hair off his face, "Don't go! It won't be the same if you're not here."

"Why?" Draco turned on him, his face had colored a dark shade of pink. "Why should I stay, why won't it be the same if I'm not here? You're not talking to me. No one is talking to me. Oh, they're spitting on me and I get the occasional death threat and oh, yes, let's not forget the little intimidation bit that made me want to wet my pants. That would have been really fucking hilarious wouldn't it? Then again, who can blame them? I mean, what right do I have to expect anything better? I'm Lucius Malfoy's son – I may as well be Lucius because fuck, look at me, I look just like him, so I must be just like him! I mean, I should have been executed as a precaution because I am bound to do something bad – just give me a couple of years and I'll be as bad as Voldemort himself, right? I deserve all this, I deserve everything I get. I deserve to be spat at, I deserve to have people hiss at me, I deserved to be tied down and have that…stuff… poured all over me. It's just a shame he didn't cover me in it totally and then we wouldn't be having this conversation and you'd be out there dancing up a storm and having a great old time!" He stopped and sank down into the couch, red faced and exhausted. He buried his face in his hands. "I just want to go home."

Harry and Minerva stared at him, stunned into silence. Draco didn't lift his head, he didn't look at either of them. He just wanted this miserable year to end. Minerva patted Harry gently on the shoulder and left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Outside in the ballroom, the countdown began to midnight.

*****************************************

Please Go to Part 3


	25. The Party Part 3

**Chapter 11 – Part 3**

"Lupin!" Snape tried desperately to make his voice sound calm, "what are you doing in this part of the house."

"I got lost, what are you doing to Hermione?"

"I...I…um…I…we…"

"We were about to make love Remus," Hermione said crisply, sitting up in the bed, "so if you could just close the door for us, we would be most grateful."

Lupin felt his eyes open so wide that they must have been goggling at the unlikely couple. Snape and Hermione? Impossible! Certainly not if he had anything to do with it. "Severus, can I see you out here for one moment please?"

Snape sighed and looked regretfully at Hermione. "One minute, sweetheart," he whispered, and turned to follow Lupin into the hall.

Hermione fell back onto the bed in frustration. This was too much. She was laced into this too tight corset that she was itching to get out of. If she didn't have Severus soon, she was almost certain her body would explode. Remus Lupin could go to hell at that moment for all she cared!

She sat up and watched the closed door for what seemed an eternity. She could hear nothing from outside and the only sound was that of the gentle breeze around her.

They had been out there for too long. Were they arguing? She lay down again and stared into the fathomless night, trying to make out the edges of the ceiling through the charm and beginning to feel cold.

The door opened and closed again and Hermione felt her heart begin to race again. Severus walked across the room, she could barely hear his footsteps on the rug as he rounded the bed and stared down at her.

Her heart twisted and she knew there was something wrong. She could sense it. He had stepped into the shadows and was little more than a silhouette beside the bed, but she knew the expression that he wore, despite not being able to see his face. He was staring at her in the still way he got sometimes in class, his face in animate, emotionless. He didn't move to touch her or come to her, he simply stood there, looking down on her.

He had changed his mind. Something had been said in the course of his conversation with Lupin that had changed his mind. He did not want her anymore, he would send her away, cold and frustrated. She felt a hollowness form and expand in her belly and she forced herself to sit up. What was she supposed to do now? She had no idea!

"Severus?" She asked quietly, "are you alright?" She focused on his hands which she could see hanging loosely at his sides. He should be on the bed touching her with this hands, not standing there like a statue.

"I'm fine." He could have been teaching a class for all the emotion in his voice.

"Well," she smiled and pushed her slippers off with her feet, "are you going to come to bed?" She waited, mentally coaxing him to lay down beside her. Now was the time for him to come to her and teach her all of the things she longed to learn. Instead, he turned from her and went to the fireplace. Sitting on his heels, he began throwing logs into the grate. He pointed his wand and ignited the fire with a vicious jab. She figured that at least that movement had something of a passion in it, even if it was the wrong sort.

Something plagued his mind, something in what Lupin had said to him troubled him far more deeply than she first realized. He stared into the fire, unmoving, allowing the light to flicker across his face. It was not a handsome face. The fire created shadows and hollows that reflected the harshness of the man, and the word gargoyle sprang unbidden to her mind. He could have been carved of stone, ungentle, unloving.

He looked angry and bitter. Something burned inside of him and it wasn't passion for her. This was all wrong. They were past this. They were supposed to be loving each other now, not sinking into melancholy.

She struggled off the bed, "What's wrong?" she demanded, "Why have you suddenly become so cold?"

He jabbed at the fire and she had to wonder if he even heard her. She walked to the fire place and resisted the urge to kick him. He did not look away from the fire and at that moment he looked far older than his thirty eight years. He was struggling with something, mulling it over in his head. She swallowed and suddenly understood. He was a dangerous man, used to power, comfortable only when he was in control. He was feeding these thoughts to her. They came to her with his voice. She frowned. If he was dangerous, then it only served to heighten her desire for him.

"I love you," she said, touching his shoulder lightly, "you know that…and I know you love me. We have been through this, remember? I know you have any number of personal demons to deal with, but the thought that has brought me through everything is that I have you. That I could see your face again."

She struggled with the front of the corset, unclipping hard metal clasps. It sprang open and she dropped it to the floor beside her bare feet. Half naked she removed the pins from her hair and shook it so that it fell in wild tangled curls around her shoulders and back. She felt wanton, her breasts felt sensuous, naked in the night air. Her nipples hardened with desire, in the fire light they took on the color of dark roses.

He looked up at her, his lips parted and he swallowed into his dry throat. He kneeled before her and wrapped his arms around her hips, burying his face into the velvet of her skirt.

**************************************  
Angelina had discarded her belly dancers costume and she lay back on the blanket, pulling Ron on top of her. He looked uncertain, a little frightened, something she attributed to the very nature of fucking her. She was taboo, strictly forbidden, and this was going to happen.

Ron lay awkwardly between her thighs. There had been a time he had really wanted to do this, but that time seemed so long ago now. Now all he felt was guilt and the shame of desire. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do and he wondered if he should tell her that he was still a virgin.

She caressed his cheek and drew his face to hers to kiss him. Ron responded to the touch, tangling his tongue around hers, enjoying the feeling of their lips pressed together. Angelina's hand slid down the length of their bodies, reaching between them and squeezing his cock lightly, smearing its head with seminal fluid and bringing a gasp from his throat. He wondered if he should touch her, if he should perhaps put his fingers inside her. In truth he did not want to, he was mounted on George's wife, and it felt to wrong to touch her, despite the obvious fact that he was about to have sex with her. For a lamentable moment he wished he could call it making love, but he knew full well it wasn't. She had used her fingers, mouth and a drug to coax a universal response from his body.

And he wanted it. Deep down, he truly wanted it.

Angelina wrapped her legs around Ron's narrow hips and he closed his eyes, bowing his head to her shoulder as she reached down and eased his cock into her.

Ron gasped, a strangled cry came from within him and he pushed cautiously deeper into her, causing Angelina's breath to catch and his own reason to cease. The heat of her body seemed to surround the very fiber of his being. Her body was tight but giving, and using her hands she urged him to move in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm, so that he withdrew almost the entire length of his cock and then plunged, deep and hard back into her.

Angelina gasped. Ron was bigger than her other lovers had been and he filled her in a way that she would have found satisfying had a lover been what she was seeking. She carefully shut her mind off, pushing the feeling of fullness away and the fact that she knew they would have been compatible lovers. He was unsure, but she could have taught him everything he needed to know. But that was not the object of this game.

A sob wrenched its way from him. He never imagined it would be quite so hot or quite so wet inside her. Angelina arched her body up to him and he took a nipple into his mouth inexpertly and sucked it. He was cresting, he could feel it, it was too good inside her, his entire body felt like alive, as though he had tapped into some cosmic energy source and he could only burn this brightly for a limited time. His orgasm crashed into him like a wave crashes into a beach. From somewhere he could hear people yelling "Happy New Year" and a burst of light seemed to illuminate the garden – and he came, crying out as he rammed hard into her body, filling her with his cum and sobbing with guilty pleasure.

They stilled and he lay on top of her, spent, his face buried into the hollow beneath her shoulder, half panting, half sobbing. Angelina shifted, struggled out from under him and sitting up. She stared at him in disgust.

"Wow," she wrinkled her nose, "that was…short." She reconsidered her position and shook her head. "Actually Ronnie, that was fucking crap. You're a fucking hopeless lay!"

Ron flushed with shame. He pulled his robes awkwardly to him and drew them up against his body, bringing his boney knees to his chest and staring at her, his blue eyes huge. A slick tear slid down his cheek and he wiped it angrily away. He clutched his robes to him in much the same way he had carried his security blanket as a child, rocking back and forth with them, his eyes never leaving her as she dressed herself. She bitterly told him just how awful he was for a few minutes longer before finally glaring at him.

"What's wrong with you? No one ever actually told you how crap you are in bed before?"

He said nothing, just stared at her. She could have been talking to a child for all the response she got. Then she realized, and had to cover her mouth to stifle her laugh.

"Don't tell me," a slow smile spread across her face, "that was your first time?"

He said nothing, but kept hugging his knees, rocking soundlessly.

"Fuck, no wonder it wasn't worth getting undressed for. If I'd have known you were a pathetic virgin I would never have bothered with you."

She turned and stalked back through the garden and back to the party. Ron pushed himself further into the alcove, willing himself to disappear into the stone work. Slowly he pulled his robes over his head, wanting nothing more than to cover his body. He never wanted to see his naked form again. He looked back at the house and the lights in the distance that represented people and life and laughter and he turned his face away from it. Resting his cheek against cold stone, he dissolved into tears.

**************************************

"Happy New Year Draco."

Draco lifted his head, "Happy New Year Potter."

"Are you going to tell me what happened with Moody?"

"No."

Harry sighed heavily, he seemed a little impatient. "I would rather if you would just tell me."

"It's nothing, just forget about it."

"NO!" Harry felt anger build sharp in him, "It does matter and I won't forget about it. I am fucking sick and tired of all this bull shit. I can't even go to a fucking party and enjoy myself for one fucking night without arguing with you."

"Well, I'm sorry I ruined your night," Draco drawled sarcastically, "I'll be off and you can go back to the fucking party to fucking enjoy yourself."

"JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!"

"NOTHING HAPPENED!"

Harry pulled his wand out and shook it to full size. He pointed it at Draco's face. Draco looked shocked, but he smirked uncertainly. "Going to hex me Harry?"

"No," Harry tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. "I'm really sorry Draco."

"For what?" Draco suddenly looked fearful.

"Legelimens."

"Protego!" Draco glared at him, "don't try that shit with me Potter, you never like what you see."

"Then just tell me what is going on. I am sick to death of coming running every time you break down."

"Every time I break down?" Draco glared hard at him. "You come running every time I break down?"

"That," Harry frowned, "that's not what I meant to say."

"Yes it is, don't fucking cover it up now that you've said it. That's exactly what you think."

"Well," Harry clenched his hands into fists by his side, "this is ridiculous. You can't even be in a room with my friends without picking a fight with one of them. Tonks said Moody had his wand out!"

"And that's my fault? You think I provoked him?"

"Why else would he do that?"

"Because he's a fucking psychopath who hates the sight of me!"

"Now you're just being paranoid."

"Why? Because Moody is such a noble soul? Because Moody wouldn't hurt a fly?"

"He is a great man." Harry said defensively.

"HE DID THIS TO ME! YOU WANTED TO KNOW, NOW YOU DO. YOUR FRIEND, YOUR 'GREAT MAN,' TIED ME TO A FUCKING TABLE AND POURED ACID ALL OVER ME BECAUSE HE WANTED TO FORCE MY FATHER TO TELL HIM THINGS HE DIDN'T KNOW. HE CUT VINCENT CRABBES HANDS OFF AND LET HIM BLEED TO DEATH IN FRONT OF HIS MOTHER. HE…HE…" Draco stopped, stared at Harry in horror, he'd said too much, he'd told Harry things he didn't ever want to know.

Harry paled, his mouth opened and closed silently. "That's not possible," Harry whispered, "you're, you're lying."

"Yeah," Draco said quiet, defeated, "I'm lying."

"He…he was a hero…he…was my friend…"

"He still is all of those things. I'm the one who isn't anything good. I wouldn't know the truth if I fell over it."

"He hurt you." Harry stared at Draco and his heart began to ache.

Draco lifted his eyes to Harry's. "Go back to the party Harry, I'll go home and keep the bed warm for you."

Harry knew he would never go back to that party; he knew he couldn't. He went to Draco instead and kissed him, crawled onto the couch beside him and licked at his mouth, chin and throat, trying to take in as much of Draco's slender body as he could, overwhelming him, wanting to take every word back, every pain away. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…I love you so much."

"I know," Draco closed his eyes and moaned as Harry kissed his way down his body, "I love you too."

Harry slid from the couch and knelt between Draco's thighs, pushing his legs open and kissing Draco's balls through the leather of his pants. Draco couldn't help himself, he laughed.

"What are you doing Potty?"

"I want to suck your cock."

Draco considered this and reached down to stroke Harry's jaw and slowly a smiled spread across his face. Harry could get horny in the most inappropriate of situations. "Well," he said quietly, "don't let me stop you."

**************************************

Hermione closed her eyes, she untied the ribbon holding his pony tail in place and let fall unkept around his head. She buried her hands in his hair and looked down at him, so still, hugging her there on his knees. He could be crying into her skirt for all she knew. She was trembling, certain that he could hear the pounding of her heart in her chest. A twig snapped in the grate, and the noise was sharp in the silence. He looked up at her, their eyes meeting and trying to fathom each other's souls. Then he seemed climbed the length of her body, pulling her hard against him, overwhelming her. His lips burned a trail up her throat; an arm as tight and strong as iron, wrapped around her waist, pinning her to a hard body. His hand cupped her small breast, rolling the hard nipple against his palm.

The hollowness inside her filled with heat. She curved herself against him, pressing her mouth to his hair, his face, his lips in a kiss so violent that they smacked teeth together, bit each other's soft mouths, and drew blood. She wanted to press herself into him until the very curves of her body had been absorbed by his, so that neither could exist without the touch of the other. She was aching to experience the multitude of sensations that he aroused in her and never suffer another coherent thought ever again. He had been her teacher for so many years. Teaching her how to be a better Witch, how to stay alive, and now he had to teach her the most satisfying lesson of all.

She began clawing at his clothes. She wanted to see him, ached to see him. He had always stayed so infuriatingly clothed. His embrace eased and she cried out, thinking he was pulling away from her; instead he tore his coat and shirt off, baring himself to the waist, as she stood bared before him.

"Oh," she gasped. Oh yes, this was what she wanted. He was slender, the muscles in his arms and torso were lean and sinewy. He was as pale as porcelain. The corrugated hollows of his ribcage were full of shadows and Hermione watched as his chest rose and fell, over and over again.

He pulled her back into his embrace, her breasts pressed against his bare flesh and their mouths found each other's. The caress of their tongues grew languid and wet. She licked at his lips and whimpered as his hands trailed down her back. Pulling away from his mouth she kissed a path down his jaw and throat, finding her way to his chest. She flicked her tongue over the salty flesh, circling a small hard nipple. She was going on instinct, doing to him what she like him to do to her, yet still uncertain. She had never touched a man before, never licked his skin, never experienced the salty sweat of arousal nor the heady scent that was part sweat, part herbs and flowers. His flesh felt primal to her, hard yet soft at the same time and was so hot that it could have been on fire.

She returned her mouth to his, pressing her bare flesh against him and a rumbling built in his body that escaped him as an explosive sigh.

"You driving me insane" he gasped.

"Good."

He plunged his hands into her hair, tracing her inner lips with his tongue. He smiled against her mouth. "Where did you come from?" he whispered against her parted lips, "you make me think only of you." He gently circled her nipple with his fingertip and she swayed a little.

"I want you," he murmured.

"I want you in me," she whispered, "I want you to touch me…everywhere."

He undressed her, taking what was left of her clothing and tossing it aside. He drew the skirt and the petticoats down with ease. Then he hooked his fingers into her panties and slid them down her thighs, giving her no chance to be shy. He sat on his haunches, allowing her to step out of her panties before he threw them aside. He pressed his lips to her pubis, his tongue flicking into her curls and eliciting a startled gasp of pleasure as it passed over her clitoris. He kissed his way back up her body, burning kisses into her hips, her belly, her ribs, her breasts, shoulders, throat and finally, back to her mouth. His hand pressed gently between her legs, a long finger gently slid over her clit, sliding easily over aroused flesh, and then sinking into her wet vagina.

Hermione cried out and gasped again. "Do…do I please you?"

"You have no idea how much."

Dear Gods he knew what he was doing with his fingers. He was kissing her again, two of his fingers working in and out of her and her legs began to tremble, aware that she was about to be swept away on a wave of pleasure.

"I want to see you," she panted, "take your clothes off for me."

He hesitated. It had been bad enough taking his shirt off. Hermione saw him flush and couldn't believe he was embarrassed.

"I'll turn around if you like, if you're afraid." She turned, offering the sweet curve of her back to him and heard a shuffling and then a sigh.

Snape smiled, appreciating the sight of her soft curved buttocks. The glamour on her shoulder was fading and he felt a sick pang as he was confronted with evidence of Krum's attack. Still she was here and she wanted him and she wanted this.

His boots fell to the floor and she felt her heart pounding in her chest as the rustling of clothes drowned out the crackle of the fire. He came to her and embraced her from behind and she felt his hard cock rest between her buttocks. His hands wandered over her body. One found her breast and squeezed a taut nipple between thumb and fore finger, whilst the other strayed over her abdomen and then slid into the delicate wet heat between her thighs.

"You are in serious danger of being taken from behind," he murmured in her ear.

"Ohhhh," Hermione felt her legs give way and she dropped. He held her upright, walked her to the bed and heaved her onto the covers. She rolled onto her back, pushing herself into a more secure place on the bed and he was quickly beside her, pulling her into his arms and they lay face to face. She got no more than a quick glimpse of his long lean body – his pale legs with their dark hair, his flat abdomen and his hard cock, before he lifted her chin and burned his gaze into hers.

"I…" he kissed her, gently, lovingly, "I love you."

"I love you t…"

The words died and became a deep moan as he licked her nipples, taking one deep into her mouth and sucking noisily. He kissed his way down her body, his tongue flicking out, licking her smooth flesh, probing into her navel, her abdomen and then delved lower.

"Open your legs for me," he whispered and she whimpered, suddenly afraid. Her slender thighs parted and he bent his head down, pushing his face between them. She felt his tongue gently flick over her clitoris. It was a little touch, yet so intimate and raw and more incredible than anything she had ever felt. He legs began to shake as one finger, then another, slid into her wetness and his tongue swirled around her clitoris again. Her hips bucked up and she whimpered and moaned at the same time. He smiled against her body, kissing her and moving his mouth so that his tongue could join his fingers in entering her, lapping at her, drinking her.

"You taste so good," he gasped, breathing hard and flicking his tongue over the hard bud again, "I want to drink you Hermione, I want to eat you."

Hermione moaned and writhed and panted, sobbing incoherent words as his tongue intimately probed her body. Severus sucked at her, licking and drinking her juices and they tasted to him like the finest wine. Her scent was musky with arousal and she ground her hips hard against the fingers he was working in and out of her. She was cresting, he could feel her body tensing all too soon and he stopped, lifted his head and moved up the length of her, rubbing his body against hers as he did so. He thrust his tongue between her lips, kissing her passionately.

"Can you taste yourself?" he asked huskily, "does it taste as good to you?"

He gave her no chance to do more than return his kiss, to tease her own tongue against his until he sucked her tongue deep into his throat and she tasted his spit mingled with her own juices, a dark taste of desire.

****************************************

Draco watched through heavy lidded eyes as Harry unbuttoned his pants and he lifted his hips so that Harry could slide them down his legs to his ankles. He watched Harry's movements, the way Harry's hands caressed Draco's thighs, roaming over smooth flesh, fingers registering the fine hairs and the contours of Draco's lean muscles. Harry kissed his hip bone, passed his lips over the concavity of Draco's stomach and gently kissed the tip of Draco's penis.

Harry licked his tongue up the underside of Draco's cock causing Draco to draw a sharp breath through his teeth. Draco stroked Harry's hair, tangling his fingers in the silky mess, damp with sweat from dancing all night long. Harry took Draco's cock into his mouth, sliding his lips down over it and taking it full into the back of the soft pallet in the roof of his mouth. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch as everything began to melt away until nothing mattered anymore and he felt nothing but the hot wet tunnel of Harry's mouth surrounding him and the smooth glide of saliva, fingers and tongue.

"That's nice baby," he whispered and Harry mumbled something unintelligible in reply. Draco chuckled and gasped. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

****************************************

Ron threaded his way carefully across the lawn. He felt sick and he wanted desperately avoid being seen from inside. He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere warm and away from his family. He couldn't face them yet, he couldn't stand there and pretend that all was well. He had proved himself, shown his worth – and it was very little.

There was a small door off to the darkened side of the house and while he reasoned that Snape probably didn't want anyone prowling around his house, Ron didn't plan on staying there long and he wouldn't go exploring. He just needed a place to hide, perhaps sleep. He just needed a place to be alone. He slipped through the door and found himself in a dark, narrow corridor. He whispered for light and wandered down the passage. For a while he speculated that it was probably a secret one, hidden behind the walls for quick escapes or for doing what he himself was doing, hiding. This seemed to be proved when he reached the end of the passageway and found himself on the wrong side of a door. He pushed it tentatively and he slipped into a parlor by way of a book case that moved silently to admit him.

The room he entered was quiet and warm. He could hear the party, but it sounded distant. A fire burned in the grate and the room was filled with a deep yellow glow. Ron realized immediately that he wasn't alone and that the room was indeed occupied. He felt a little disappointed, it was a comfortable room and he would have liked to have stayed there for a while. He hesitantly opened his mouth to make his apologies quickly and leave.

No sound came out, no sound needed to. He realized quickly that he had not been noticed, indeed, the occupant of the room had his back to him and Ron was hidden away in the shadows and at that moment, wild Thestrals would not have dragged Ron from his spot.

Draco Malfoy had his head thrown back on the lounge, his eyes were closed, his mouth open. His breaths were coming short and fast, small noises came from his throat. Someone was obviously pleasuring him, really pleasuring him because he was whispering deliriously and whimpering and Ron was willing to bet that person was Hermione. The chance to catch her at it, it foil her persistent lie, was too great a chance for Ron to pass up. He stood still, watching with a mixture of horror and anticipation as his enemy moaned in pleasure.

"That's good baby," Malfoy said huskily and opened his eyes, bowing his head to look down at his lover, "keep doing that baby, keep doing that."

She obviously did something right because Malfoy gasped and hissed and cried out, he moved his hand from the back rest of the lounge, obviously making to stroke her hair, or hold her head, or something.

"Fuck," Malfoy gasped, "Oh fuck you're the best, you do that so good you wouldn't believe it."

Ron smirked, she must be pretty fucking good. A hidden talent perhaps, either that or Malfoy was lying, which was entirely possible. Still Ron doubted it, because Malfoy was gasping harder now, his orgasm obviously taking him by surprise. He cried and whimpered and whispered soft words to his lover. Words Ron could not hear or understand. Then suddenly, hew came, crying out loud and clear; "Oh, oh, Ohhhhh, OH! Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry , HARRY, HARR….AHHHH!"

Ron froze, as still as a statue as he watched Malfoy dissolve into pleasure, his orgasm wringing cries from his body. Cries not of Hermione's name, not the name he was supposed to say, not the name that would give Ron triumphant pleasure. No, he did not cry that name out into the night. Malfoy cried Harry's name. For one dumbfounded moment Ron thought, 'Wow, Hermione's going to be pretty pissed at him for that,' but then the purveyor of Malfoy's pleasure rose into view, climbing up Malfoy's body, lips stained with traces of semen and his green eyes glowing with arousal.

"I did tell you I loved you didn't I?" Malfoy drawled, exhausted.

"Yes you did," Harry covered Malfoy's mouth with his, kissing him deeply and Ron watched as Malfoy's tongue flicked out, licking his own seed from the corners of Harry's mouth. "You can tell me again," Harry whispered, "you can tell me all night 'cause I'm never going to get tired of hearing it."

"I love you."

Harry kissed him again, smothering the words in Malfoy's throat. Harry pulled back and looked down at Malfoy, he must've been kneeling on the couch because Malfoy was still sitting upright. "Do you still want to go home?"

"Yeah," Malfoy smiled, "Don't worry, I promised to keep the bed warm for you."

"I think I'd rather come with you now," Harry was grinning, tracing Malfoy's jaw with his fingers, "I figure we can be there in about five minutes and I can have my cock up your arse in about ten."

"Promises, promises Potty, every time you say that you end up on your back with your feet in the air and me fucking you senseless."

Harry laughed, "Is that such a bad thing?"

"Not at all," Malfoy kissed Harry lightly, "I just like you to know your place."

"What? Beneath you with my feet in the air?"

"Exactly."

Harry laughed affectionately and they were kissing again, passionately and noisily. Ron felt a hot surge of anger race through him, coupled with something akin to jealousy. He watched them, watched the easy way they were with each other, how passionate – how loving. He felt his mouth twist with disgust. They had said words of love to each other. Ron felt sick at the thought. Harry loved Malfoy, and Malfoy was the giver of rosebuds, the giver of roses no less. Malfoy knew the intimacies of Harry's body – and had known them for many months. From the first rosebud. It had never been Hermione. Hermione's lover was a mystery.

And Harry had let Ron believe it. Harry had let Ron think Hermione had been the betrayer, when he had the one. Harry had sucked Malfoy's cock one minute and listened to Ron condemn Hermione the next. Harry was nothing but a fucking liar.

Anger clouded his vision, made it impossible for him to stay silent. He stepped from the shadows and stared at Harry who could see him but had not registered that it was him yet. "So you never had a girlfriend then?" Ron asked blankly and with more calm than he felt. He allowed himself some satisfaction at the look on Harry's face. Malfoy had moved to look over the back of the couch, to see who exactly had caught them. "It's been Malfoy all along then. You let me hate Hermione. You let me destroy any friendship I had with her, just to cover your own arse."

"Ron I…" Harry scrambled off Malfoy and rounded the lounge. He smelled musky, the pants he was wearing did little to hide his erection, even though the erection was fading as he tried to work out exactly what he could say to make this right. "Ron, I…I can explain."

"What is there to explain? You're a faggot and you let Malfoy stick his cock in your arse. That's pretty much it, isn't it?"

Harry stared at him. What was he to say to that? Put in such a way it sounded sordid and perverse – which it wasn't. He doubted that Ron was going to listen to him as tried to explain about how much he loved Draco. He doubted Ron would sit through the full story, from the first moment to the present. He doubted Ron would understand the sheer joy he had felt when he realized that Draco had wanted him too, after two years of aching for him. Ron didn't care about these things, Ron's hate was too old and too deep.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered and he meant it. "I should have told you. I should have told you a long time ago."

Malfoy came around the couch. He'd pulled his pants up and he slid in behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry's body defensively and dug his sharp chin into Harry's shoulder. "You got a problem Weasel?" he drawled.

"Not at all, "Ron grinned maliciously, "I'm just realizing what a fucking couple of queers you are. Fuck, I should have noticed it before eh? I wonder what they are all going to think when they find out that the new Lord Malfoy is buggering their special little hero?"

Harry paled and felt Draco hold him a little tighter.

"Why don't you just fuck off Weasel?" Draco spat, "you just can't stand it because he didn't choose you. You'd get slops at best and you'll never get him, so take your filthy little mind and fuck off."

"Oh Malfoy," Ron laughed nastily, "I wouldn't be too fucking confident if I were you, they might actually castrate you for this one."

"Ron!" Harry said desperately, "Please, can we just talk about this, just for five minutes?" He took a step towards Ron and Ron took a step back.

"Don't you fucking come near me, you filthy little faggot."

Harry stopped in his tracks and swallowed and watched as Ron walked out the door.

"I guess that could have gone a little better," Draco said quietly. Harry could only agree.

Severus was cradled between her thighs, his erection pressed hard against her stomach. Hermione slid her hand down his smooth back and stroked his small, tight buttocks. He moved her knees, pushed them back and lifted her hips a little. She stiffened involuntarily, as if he would hurt her and she squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want him to stop, but she could not control the sudden fear.

"Don't be afraid. I meant what I said. I will never hurt you," he whispered, brushing a stray hair away from her face.

"I'm not…" she lied, "I…I just…" She trembled beneath him.

"Shhh, don't be scared," she could barely hear him because he was kissing her throat again. Snape wanted desperately to be kind, to be a good man and tell her that they could wait, that they could take their time. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He wanted this. Want be damned – he needed it. He licked her throat behind her ear, in the place he knew she loved it and then slowly he ran his tongue in a maddening trail to her breasts, sucking each nipple in turn, nibbling lightly and bringing her back to passion.

The throbbing between her thighs had become so intense that the need was almost painful. She felt his hard sex rub against her swollen clitoris and pleasure jolted through her so swiftly that she was sure she could have imagined it. Her whole body tensed and coiled, ready to spring and aching for release. She closed her eyes, arching up into him and she felt her mind begin to dissolve. Hermione's only coherent thought was that she needed to feel him sliding into her, needed to have all those glorious sensations he elicited focused, and to center the throbbing arousal that was growing stronger and more relentless.

"I need you," he whispered to her, "I…I can't wait…I...I'm sorry"

"I want you inside me," she whimpered, "I want this."

The pressure she had feared came. It hurt as he pushed against her and then there was a stinging pain as she felt him enter her. She was tight despite the wetness he had created and as he eased into her, drawing blood, she cried out harshly into his shoulder, clinging to him, tears springing to her eyes. He pushed into her and then slipped free again and she trembled. This could not be all, and she knew it. She felt stupid for wondering, but she knew this could not be the end of it. Then he was inside her again, deeper than before. He groaned and plunged into her again and again, into the narrow slickness of her body, each penetration following deeper and faster than the one before.

She lay beneath him, her mouth open in wonder as his hands urged her hips to keep pace with him. The pain was melting, becoming less, and in its place a vague stinging sensation was gradually replaced by the awareness and realization that he was inside her. She could feel his thick penis filling her, pushing deep into her and withdrawing and filling her again with a hard swift stroke.

"Oh, oh Gods, Severus, It feels…it feels…"

A shudder rocked through him and he held her tight, pulling her hips hard against him, plunging deeper into her body as his orgasm began to build. He slid a hand between then and stroked her clit, grinding his cock deeper into her and when she came the narrow passage of her body closed around him, forcing his eyes open wide and he cried out, clutching her to him and sobbing her name over and over again; "'Mione, 'Mione, 'Mione."

A sob rose in her throat and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as the shudders of his orgasm slowly died. Her own body continued to throb and tingle and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her body felt raw. They were both slick with sweat, their hair damp tangled messes. He raised his face to look at her, disheveled beneath him and he had never seen a sight so beautiful in the entire of his life. He kissed her gently, exhausted, happy, relieved. He bowed his head and collapsed into her arms, unwilling and unable to move from his position atop her.

Gradually the thought came to Severus that they should crawl under the covers to hold each other close and sleep, but the effort was too great when they were both happy to lie slick with sweat and tangled intimately in each other's naked limbs.

***************************************

Harry and Draco opened the door of the parlor and stepped back into the throng of people still swelling the ranks of the party. They clutched each other's hands, afraid of being separated, afraid of someone saying something to them. As they stepped into the ballroom it was as though everything stopped. For a moment, all eyes turned to stare and Harry felt color rise to his cheeks. He held Draco's hand a little tighter and stood a little straighter and looked at Draco. Lord Malfoy – beautiful, dangerous, complex and all his. Draco smiled at him and led him across the dance floor towards the door.

The music started again, a Muggle song, a slow one, bluesy, beautiful. So much like Draco it almost made Harry weep. He stopped in his tracks, pulling Draco to a halt.

"Harry?"

"Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me, I love this song."

Draco came to him, wrapped his arms around his waist, pulled him close. Harry rested his cheek against Draco's shoulder and slid his arms around his neck, inhaling Draco's scent, swaying and stepping in time to the music, singing softly into Draco's ear. When he ventured to look he saw that they weren't alone. For all those that were staring, there were more dancing. Minerva danced past slowly, in Dumbledore's arms, she smiled at him and nestled her face into Dumbledore's beard. Harry smiled, he had never considered that there might be something there, and it made him happy to know that there was. He looked up at Draco and found heavy grey eyes staring back at him.

Slowly, tentatively, he reached up and captured Draco's mouth in a soft kiss.

"Forever?" Harry whispered.

"Forever and always," Draco replied, and at that moment he meant it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	26. Into the Labyrinth

_Disclaimer: See Prologue_

 _I have, for the past year, been waiting on a full grammar beta of this story, as yet I have been unsuccessful in that endeavour and thus I have not uploaded the full story to Ashwinder. As it has been finished and posted at Whispers for quite a while I've decided to post it here anyway. It has been beta'd, but as with all beta jobs things were missed._

 **Chapter 12**

 **Into the Labyrinth**

Hermione opened her eyes to the half-light of New Year's morning and frowned slightly at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. Her muscles ached with a dull throb, as though she had run a mile, or put herself through one of the cardio-kick classes her mother was always trying to drag her to in the summer. She felt sore and damp between her thighs and the room positively reeked of a musky, sexual scent. She felt the bed move beneath her back as her companion shifted in his sleep and rolled onto his back.

Hermione's eyes widened, suddenly completely aware of exactly where she was and just who her companion was. She jerked her head sideways and found herself face to face with Severus, who was snoring softly, lost in a deep sleep.

She sat bolt upright in the bed and stared down at him, barely daring to breathe. The heady sensations of the previous night swept over her and she stared down at him, her own Pleasure Master. Severus was sprawled on his back in a tangle of dark sheets and pale limbs. She found herself smiling, although she couldn't remember the muscles in her face ever moving to put the smile there. Perhaps she had woken up with it and had only just realized she wore it. The sheets had managed to wind themselves around one long leg and over one bony hip; otherwise he was laid bare before her. If she had caught only a fleeting glimpse last night, she was left with nothing to the imagination this morning.

Hermione allowed her eyes to take him in, not sure if she should touch him lest she wake him from his sleep. Tall and thin and pale, his muscles were lean and sinewy, she noticed that around his middle he was a little soft but it did not look out of place, in fact it served to give a little more substance to his form. In his youth he would probably have been considered weedy. He was certainly strong, he had carried her to this room, but to look at him naked, she would never have thought it possible. His hair was spread over the pillow, inky and black, the same colour as the hair that dusted his pubis and armpits. He was deeply asleep, lips slightly parted, his face turned towards her. He looked not so much fearsome now as peaceful. His sleep was content.

She moved her gaze from his face and surveyed his body again, wondering how on earth she was going to sit in a classroom and not think about this moment. She knew this body now; she knew the feel of it. She knew the feel of his bony shoulder beneath her hand, the way his spine moved as he arced his back, how it felt to have that sharp hill of a hip bone slam into the lean flesh of her inner thigh as he buried himself inside her.

She tentatively reached between her legs and pressed the sore area of flesh and winced. She had no doubt that he had bruised her with that sharp hip bone, but she couldn't imagine a more delicious pain. Slowly she ran the very tips of her fingers over his sharp collar bone and watched as gooseflesh shivered across his chest, hardening small nipples to tiny points. Smiling, she traced her fingers lower, watching the goose flesh that trailed in her wake. She wanted nothing more than to touch him all over, to wake him and demand that he return the touch, demand a repeat of last night's efforts. She skirted her fingers down his body, barely touching his skin, allowing her fingers to linger in the cup of his navel for a moment before delving into the dark curls of his pubic hair. She lightly touched his soft penis and hesitantly drew her fingertips over the sac of his balls. She felt awkward and inexpert, not sure how much pressure she could apply without hurting him.

To her amazement, his cock grew hard under the lightest of touches and she looked about the empty room, wondering exactly what to do about it. Did all men become aroused so easily? In their sleep? She wondered if she should do something to relieve it, put it in her mouth perhaps. Lavender had given her a book that told her how to do it well; Hermione could have kicked herself for not reading it. In all honesty she had never considered fellatio an option. The very idea of putting any mans penis in her mouth repulsed her somehow. Then she discovered it was actually a fairly common practice. Harry and Draco seemed to do it all the time. Not that she had ever seen them, but they were pretty filthy in some of their conversations with each other, she got the gist. Then again, Harry and Draco seemed to have an inordinate amount of difficulty keeping their hands off each other. She could only wonder how they had managed for all those months at school without someone noticing.

They would be going back to school soon, back into hiding their affection. It must be hard for them, and she had a feeling that she was about to discover that particular difficulty. Being with Severus at Hogwarts was not going to be easily accomplished. They would sort it out. They had to sort it out.

Severus' penis was growing harder and she chewed her lip. She was going to have to ask Lavender how to do this, or maybe even Harry. Harry was a man after all, and he surely knew what men liked. Severus was just going to have to wait until she was certain she wouldn't make an idiot out of herself. Instead of taking him into her mouth, she moved herself up his body and lightly brushed her lips against his.

"Good morning Professor," she whispered, "Happy New Year."

He did not reply, but startled her by caressing her hip with one hand and pulling her head back down towards his face with the other hand. Hermione found her lips being crushed against his with possessive greed. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, entwined it with her own and she nestled down beside him, allowing the length of her naked body to press hard against him.

He pulled away, pushed a shank of messy hair back from her face and without opening his eyes, allowed the smallest of smiles to touch his lips. "Good morning Miss Granger," he mumbled sleepily and ran his hand over one soft buttock and up to the small of her back. "How long have you been awake?"

She grinned and ran a finger over the line of his jaw, "not long, I've just been looking at you."

He snorted softly, perfectly aware of what he must look like; skinny, pale and erect. Slowly he opened his eyes and found her staring back at him, for a moment they couldn't speak, couldn't move. They just held each other's gaze, losing themselves in the depth of the others eyes. Hermione broke the spell first. She had to kiss him. She felt as if she had waited an age for this moment, to be so close to him was intoxicating. To be naked with him, to be loved by him - she felt a heady wave of desire take her and she captured his mouth desperately, clawing at him, trying to draw his body into hers. The man she had known was dead to her. The vile Potions Master was gone. She could scarcely believe that she had once dreaded the very sight of him. How could she have ever thought of him as vile, and how could that be possible when kissing him was so very good? To think, had she not been dared to throw water over him, she would never have found this out.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of fates hand.

Had she known he could kiss like this, she would have done it years ago. Now his mouth was on hers, just where it belonged, and his hand was behind her head, holding her still and she sighed into his throat. Then he moved, no longer content with simply kissing her mouth, but the curve of her neck, his mouth gliding across her soft skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty taste of arousal that had gathered in the hollow at the base of her throat. Hermione moaned softly, her body coming to life as his hands slid up her back. It felt so good. She felt more alive than she could have ever imagined she would, considering just how incredible the previous night had been. If this was sex, then sex was the greatest thing she she'd ever learned! She felt herself becoming lost in the sensations of his mouth on her sensitive flesh, the taste of his spit was still on her tongue and she savoured it. She would have him inside her again, very soon, despite the fact that her body was still sore and aching from last night.

"So, Miss Granger," he smiled an evil smile, "I trust you slept well?"

"Very well Professor, and yourself?"

"Oh yes, I was thoroughly enjoying my sleep until a naughty little minx came and woke me up."

"Perhaps you should give her detention," Hermione stifled a giggle and gasped as he pressed his cock harder into her thigh.

"Oh, I think I have a much better idea." His lips roamed over her shoulder, pausing on the livid bruise that Krum had left there. He kissed it gently, murmuring soft words she couldn't understand to the discoloured flesh and it lightened a little.

Hermione arched her body up to greet his intimately, offering her breasts to him and he chuckled softly. Her hands began to stroke the plains of his back, roving the length of him, caressing and kneading and stroking. He sighed and finished murmuring to the bruise and was suddenly back with her, kissing her mouth with such force that it felt like an explosion of lips and tongue and spit. She responded forcefully, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his lip, their teeth gnashing together as though trying desperately to devour each other until nothing was left. When one of his hands moved finally to her breast, rolling a hard nipple between long fingers, she almost cried out, her own fingers digging hard into his back. It felt good. It felt divine.

He left her mouth again and she almost wept for the loss of him, but then he put his lips where his hand had been and she did cry out, loud and sharp, relishing the glorious heat as his mouth closed over the bare nipple. Her fingers sank into the inky pool of his hair and for a few heart beats she was convinced she had died and gone to heaven. Then a moment later his hand pressed between her thighs and slid over her swollen clitoris and Hermione's eyes flew open and she whimpered. This was too good. Sinfully good. Delightfully, sinfully, good.

Snape was bolder than Hermione. Now he had given in he would deny himself nothing. He would not hesitate in fear of getting something wrong. He had a simple philosophy. If it feels good, do it. If Hermione didn't like something, she was free to tell him so. He wanted nothing more than to pleasure her, he could live for that. He slipped a deft finger inside her and smiled as he watched sensations sweep over Hermione like a tidal flood.

Gasping at the intensity of the wet heat inside her, he insinuated another finger. He could hear her heart beating, she was whimpering, crying and writhing around his hand and he worked his fingers in and out of the wetness, first circling her clitoris and then pushing back into her depths.

"Do you think this an adequate punishment for a minx who disturbs my sleep Miss Granger?"

Hermione tried to say yes, but it came out as a sobbing moan. She was lost now, unable to speak coherently, unable to move or respond to anything but the aching need to have him buried in her again. He shifted, mounting her and settling into the sturdy cradle of her thighs. He pushed her knees back and he gently pushed against her. She felt the hill of his hip bone push against her bruised thighs and a shudder passed through her, it hurt, but it was a delicious pain. The probing head of his penis was smooth as silk, but as hard as the polished statues in the hall. She clung to his shoulders and felt him shudder at the effort to remain gentle with her, and not to simply do as he wished and plunge into her. But she wanted him to do that; she wanted to be fucked as much as he wanted to fuck her. Hermione pressed against his hardness and opened herself up to him, as she felt him slide into her heat she tensed and strained at just how much he filled her and then she relaxed, experimenting with lifting her hips to meet him, letting him sink a little deeper inside.

"What does it feel like?"; she gasped and wondered at the absurdity of her own question. She wanted to know, she wanted to know what he was feeling, and she wanted to hear his voice in her ear as he answered. "W-what does it feel like to be inside me?"

Snape frowned and moved, just a fraction of an inch – it was enough to make her cry out loud. How did it feel? Amazing? Fucking incredible? He doubted that was what she wanted to hear. "It feels…" he moved again and hissed through his teeth at the heat of her, "it feels hot, hot…and wet…" he moaned softly, "and tight."

Hermione smiled, pressing her cheek to his and relishing the feel of his unshaven face against her soft skin. His hair fell against her face and she pushed it back, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. Severus moved slowly within her and all the glorious sensations from the previous night washed over her. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he began to thrust himself deeper into her, gently at first, restraining himself and then, hearing her appreciative gasps, with mounting urgency.

Hermione's hips rose to meet her lovers, her need for release soon approaching the imperativeness of his. Severus was murmuring things to her again, words that in the heat of passion, she could not understand. He seized her hands and pinned them to the bed above her head, becoming rougher now that he knew she could take him. It was an action that may once have frightened her, but at that moment felt so perfect that she felt her body liquefy.

"You feel so good," she whimpered, "I can feel you in me…I can feel you fucking me…"

He didn't answer; he could do little more than moan and increase the depth and rhythm of his thrusts. Hermione closed her eyes, her head tilted back as she gasped for breath. Her entire being felt focused on Severus, on his ragged breathing, the coarseness of the stubble on his chin as it raked across her soft cheek and on the force behind each thrust as he plunged so deeply into her that she feared the bed would collapse.

Her climax, when it came, shattered her. It seemed as if for one moment every nerve and fibre in her body was taut and held captive, the next she was released and her body became like liquid fire, flowing and spreading around him, devouring him and drawing him into her form. She shuddered from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and although she did not know it, the cry that came from within her throat was as much a sob as a scream. Hearing it, Severus lost all semblance of control, he thrust himself deeply into her, no longer conscious of whether or not he hurt her, only able to seek pleasure in her body, he sort only release.

It came, washing over him in torrents, powerful spasms of relief that caused him to roar his pleasure so loud that Hermione was certain McGonagall would come running.

He collapsed on top of her and for a moment Hermione was conscious of the pounding rhythm of his racing heart and the heavy weight of his body on hers. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his throat, his shoulder, and his face. Licking the salty sweat from his flesh.

When he could, he slid from her and pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as she curled into the curve of his body, nestling her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

"Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"If you like, I can steal from your stores and you could punish me all over again."

He chuckled softly, "Honey, I think I'll just give you the key."

******************************************************

 **Daily Prophet – Sunday December 27, 1998.**

 **Security Breach on Travelling Dark Arts Exhibition.**

 _After a brazen attack by person's unknown, Death Eater Lucius Malfoy has been removed from the "Death Eaters and the Dark Arts" exhibition currently touring England._  
 _Fanatics had taken the opportunity of the post Christmas quiet to stage an attack. Fortunately the exhibitions Curator, Mr. Archibald Semeuse was on hand to foil the plan. The attack has brought about speculation of the validity of sending the exhibition on tour. Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has defended the decision, stating that the Auror's assigned to the museum were adequately capable of protecting the exhibition and that aside from some superficial cuts and bruises, Mr. Malfoy had been unharmed. Minister Fudge also added that for the Death Eaters own safety he was being returned to the Museum's vaults in London._

 _Minister Fudge received strong opposition when first suggesting the exhibition, most notably, from opposition leader Mr. Arthur Weasley, who suggested that such a display harkened back to the age of the inquisition. After the attack on the temporary Museum, Mr. Weasley has reiterated his position, stating that if the safety of the exhibition could not be guaranteed, it should be dispensed with immediately._

 _"Death Eaters and the Dark Arts" will reach Derbyshire early in the New Year. For a complete schedule of travel dates, please see Entertainment on page 20._

********************************************************

Semeuse had not read the Daily Prophet for several days and when he finally did, it served only to anger him further and forced his resolve never to read the Daily Prophet again. After Boxing Day he had gone into damage control. He told his story with conviction and had even gone along with Fudge's suggestion about removing Lucius until the exhibition returned to London. As much as it pained him to be removed from that which he now held so very dear, he knew that London was the safest place for Lucius to be. The Museum was ancient, the wards impressive. The boy, should he decide to try and get his Father out, would not even get close.

So Semeuse had returned to London with his precious cargo. He was not a stupid man; he knew full well that Lucius had somehow managed to break that case. It could not have been the boy. Draco Malfoy had been to deeply entranced to have said his own name when the glass shattered. Oh no, Lucius had done it. The question Semeuse was asking himself with alarming regularity was 'how?'

Of course, the boy wasn't stupid either, so the boy would also know and the boy would be asking the same question himself – and that meant that it was only a matter of time before the boy came back to find out. And Semeuse planned to be ready for him.

The exhibition was closed until after New Year, a decision Semeuse had been able to put down the 'attack.' In reality, the Curator wanted to spend some time in London with Lucius. There were things he had to discover. Once back in the surrounds of the building he had called home for over half a century, Semeuse installed Lucius in his own chambers and set about researching all possible explanations for the Angels apparent use of magic. Occasionally he would turn and stare at the Angel lying pale and passive under the sheets. There was only one explanation that he could come up with – that the kiss had not worked, and if that was the case, how was it that Lucius was in his current state? Then he would sit on the edge of the bed and push blond hair away from the increasingly gaunt face. Stroking the sharply defined cheek bone, he stared into the grey eyes; "Are you there Lucius?" he asked softly, a smile creeping into his voice, "are you hiding in there?"

The idea of it thrilled him. Just how Lucius had managed to do it was unimportant compared with the idea that he had. That inside that body, inside that head, his mind was still in tact, functioning, aware. The very idea that Lucius knew what was happening to him, knew Semeuse's touch, could feel and understand the experience. It was too delicious to dare contemplate. Once the idea was in his head, the next logical step was to try and prove that it was possible – and that was where he came undone. Semeuse had no idea of just how to test his theory. For the time being he would have to content himself with the idea that it was true – and find out for certain later on.

He made love to Lucius with more passion than usual over the next week. The feel of the invisible hands pushing at him now held even more significance. He wondered what Lucius was thinking, what kind of sounds he would make if he was able to. Would he cry or scream? Would he whimper and secretly enjoy Semeuse's ministrations? What did this man sound like in the throes of passion? What did he feel like? Did Lucius know the secrets of abandonment, had he writhed and enjoyed all the pleasures of the flesh?

But Lucius remained obstinately silent, his only movement caused by Semeuse's hard thrusts into his body, his arms splayed out across the bed. Semeuse spent his week alternately fucking his silent lover and plotting just how to discover his secrets. Lucius never spoke; even when he had been stimulated into an orgasm of his own his face never registered a change. He was as still and impassive as a corpse. In the early hours of New Years morning, after a week with little sleep, Semeuse crawled into his bed and pulled his Angel into his arms. He briefly passed his tongue between those perfect lips and then settled down beside the Angel, desperate to fade into sleep.

*****************************************

Harry and Draco slept, holding each other, wrapped into the curves of each others naked bodies like twins bound together in the womb. The horror of the party was past, they had danced and left and come back to this place. To their room, their bed - and it was theirs now, Draco would never look on it as his own any more. They had come back to their bed and made desperate love to each other; Draco had stroked, tasted and probed Harry's body, unrelenting until Harry came with a shameful cry. Draco would wipe every derogatory word, every nasty whisper, and every sideways glance, from Harry's mind. Then the fever they had held at bay for the night had taken hold and they slept bathed in a fevered sweat, holding each other tight.

In the darkness that came just before the dawn a slow shimmering began near the ceiling, above the bed itself. It deepened and began to swirl creating a vague whirlpool of light in the air, shimmering like waves of heat in a desert. Then, tiny pin pricks of light began to fall, appearing like fiery little tears in the air and see-sawing down. The lights swirled and changed as they neared the bed, sweeping over the tangle of Draco's legs, hip and arm, swirling and forming something that could have been human in shape.

Harry and Draco slept on, not knowing, not caring. The light swept along the floor, under the bed, around the walls and finally over the boys sweaty fevered bodies. A voice whispered from within the lights, murmuring softly into the shadows of sleep.

"I love you too Daddy," Draco mumbled and the lights caressed him, trailing up his flesh, hot from fever, and whispered again.

"I won't leave you there, I promise, I won't let him keep you."

The lights caressed Draco's brow and seemed to pause in mid air, hesitating, thinking, and finally they swept down over Harry's sleeping form. The pressure of the lights physically manipulated Harry's flesh, causing it to ripple and leaving gooseflesh in their wake. In his sleep Harry became aroused and sighed as a voice whispered into his ear. Harry frowned and murmured "alright" quietly.

Dawn found them still locked tightly together, Harry's face buried into the back of Draco's neck and his arms clamped across Draco's chest. Draco clutched Harry's hand so tightly that Harry would later find the indentations of Draco's nails in his palm.

The lights swirled around them for one last time, drawing a sheet over their entwined forms, and then returned to the ceiling. A breeze drifted across them, cooling fevered flesh, soothing their sleep and the voice was replaced with the steady beating of wings.

********************************************************

Harry was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, an irony that was not lost on him. For years he had considered Hogwarts his home, a place he could escape the cruelty of his Aunt and Uncle, and now he was dreading the very thought of the castle. Flying instead of Apparating seemed the best way to return and Harry recognized his own attempt at prolonging the inevitable.

Draco, on the other hand, was desperate to get back to school. Harry had found himself pleading, prepared to get on his knees and beg if he had to but Draco was insistent. While he begrudgingly was forced to admit that he did want to test out his new broom over a long distance, the idea of flying from Wilshire to Scotland was not what he had in mind. He also had business with Snape that he insisted could not wait. On this point a fight had ensued that had sent House Elves scattering in all directions.

"He's been next door for over a week, why didn't you just go and see him before?"

"I did. He said I had to wait until I got back, all his notes are at Hogwarts." Draco sounded a little bitter, as though he had been resenting this for a while.

The argument had occurred over breakfast on New Year's morning and had become so heated that Draco had thrown a plate of bacon across the table at Harry who had retaliated by knocking Draco over with a particularly vicious hex. That had been the last of it because Harry had heard the resounding crack as Draco's head hit the stone floor. He'd rounded the table and picked Draco up from the floor and hugged him tight. They had then made love on the floor of the dining room surrounded by the ruins of breakfast.

Later, with Harry wrapped in one of Draco's old Slytherin robes and eyeliner still smudged around his eyes from the previous night, Draco had agreed to fly back to school. Non served them coffee in the conservatory and Harry had almost ruined it all over again.

"I had the weirdest dream last night."

Draco had raised an eyebrow; his own sleep hadn't exactly been dream free.

"I dreamed your Father was speaking to me." Harry laughed and shook his head at the absurdity of it.

Draco almost dropped the coffee. "W-what?"

"I dreamed your Father was speaking to me. He was next to the bed I think and he was speaking to me. It was really creepy."

Draco became agitated, "what did he say?" he asked quickly.

"Nothing really," Harry shrugged, "it was just a dream Draco."

"But what did he say?" Draco was shaking, agitated.

Harry frowned and pursed his lips a little in a way that reminded himself of Aunt Petunia. "He told me I had to protect you, something like that anyway. Someone wants you for themselves, and I'm not allowed to let them have you. I think he said I have to protect you at all costs."

Draco stood up and wandered to the glass wall of the conservatory. He stared down at the Fenn and wished he was back at school so he could discuss this with the only other person who might understand.

"It was only a dream Draco."

Draco nodded curtly.

"You know I would, don't you?"

"You would what?"

"Protect you," said Harry seriously, "at all costs."

Draco forced a smile, forced a smirk. "Oh Potter," he drawled, "You're my hero."

**********************************************************

Ron had returned to Hogwarts at the earliest opportunity. He was packed and ready to go by six on Saturday morning, something that infuriated Ginny, as she was desperate for him to catch the train with her later that morning. She was hoping to talk to him about Harry, and perhaps convince him not to humiliate his friend out of spite. She need not have worried; one look at the Saturday morning Daily Prophet proved that the humiliation was well and truly underway. Rita Skeeter had, it appeared, managed to find a source inside the party itself who was only too pleased to tell all. The Prophet was screaming the news to anyone who picked it up. Ron had read the article and declared that it was Harry's own fault before throwing the paper aside and hauling his trunk downstairs.

Angelina had come to say good bye of course. Ron would have been surprised if she hadn't. He'd lain perfectly still and kept his eyes closed while she rode him to orgasm. He'd found himself simply going along with her attentions, as though resigned to a fate that he was unsure was heaven or hell. She had given him a package containing what he knew would be her drug. He told her he didn't want it and she had smiled with smug self assurance.

"Trust me Ronnie, you'll need it."

He didn't know what she had meant, but it didn't seem to matter, he threw the package in his trunk and locked it, bade goodbye to his family and set off. Once he'd reached Scotland and with several hundred miles between himself and his sister in law, he felt himself physically uncoil. If only the other problems in his life were so easily disposed of. Not that this problem was going to leave him easily. There was still the fact that he had betrayed his brother in the worst possible way, and the sneaking suspicion that Angelina was definitely up to something. Ron knew he was so thick in the middle of it that when the shit hit the fan he was going to be first in the firing line, and he was probably a drug addict to boot. The final realization came when mid morning he had started to shake and crave and need the drug and he'd opened the package to find a note saying, "I told you you'd need it."

Still, he was away from her and that was all that really mattered for a moment. He could relax in the silence of the Common Room and pretend the past week or so had never happened.

In his room he had to face the problem of Harry. He sat and looked across the short stretch of room to Harry's neatly made bed. The traitor's bed. Harry had left things behind when he'd gone to Malfoy's for Christmas.

Malfoy's for Christmas – the very idea sickened Ron beyond measure. Yet Harry had gone willingly. Harry had more than gone there, Harry had lain in the Ferrets bed, kissed him, tasted him, and explored Malfoy intimately. Ron could see it in his minds eye, although he never wanted to. The intimate tangle of limbs, the sound their mouths made when they kissed, and the warm tone of voice they used when they spoke to each other. Harry had taken a lover, and that lover was Malfoy.

Ron stared with silent regret at seven years of Gryffindor pennants tacked to the wall above Harry's bed. A photograph of Harry's parents sat framed on the bed side table and Ron could only wonder what they would think of their son's choice of partner. Another photograph of Harry, Hermione and himself, was framed beside Harry's parents. It had been taken over the summer and they were laughing. Voldemort was dead, and they were free. He remembered the day the photograph was taken. It had been the day Lucius Malfoy was sentenced and they had laughed about it, laughter of relief. They had no idea then that the coming year would tear their friendship apart.

Although Harry and Hermione were still close, Ron had no doubt that Hermione knew all about Malfoy. They had taken a stand against him; they hadn't even tried to tell him what was going on. They left him to discover it in such a way.

Ron sighed and stared wistfully at the bed. How many nights had Harry come back there in the early hours of the morning, a new rosebud on the contract and a smile on his face? Too many to count. Ron had contemplated burning the Contract; they had all completed the task they had set themselves. Who Hermione had been with Ron did not know and he doubted she would tell him. He had burned his bridges with Hermione months ago and he couldn't help blaming Harry for that. Hermione's rose had bloomed full and pink as glorious as a summer's morning. Harry's had been the darkest seductive red and Ron's had been yellow, with the touches of apricot close to it's heart. He had feared it would be brown but it seemed the Contract did not discriminate when the task had been completed. They each had a rose, and that was all that mattered. Ron hadn't burned it though, instead he rolled it and placed it under the bed and hoped he could forget about it.

Later in the day, an hour or so before the others arrived back; he went to the kitchens and found a box. Returning to his room he silently began pulling the pennants from the wall and throwing them inside it.

*************************************************************

Harry was astonished that Draco wasn't complaining yet, because if it had been Draco's idea to fly, Harry would have been whining like an injured dog by now. To say that it was freezing vastly understated the cold, and the further north they flew, the colder it got. It had entered Harry's mind that the reason Draco hadn't complained could well be because his mouth had frozen shut and he sent a worried glance Draco's way. The edges of Draco's black woollen cloak were tinged white with ice, his usually pale face was painfully red, and his lips looked a little blue. Harry was grateful now that Draco had forced him to wear Lucius Malfoy's fur lined travel cloak and gloves. He'd argued against it, but now could only wonder how in hell he would have managed without it. Despite the insulation of the fur, Harry felt frozen to the broom – and they hadn't even reached Cumbria yet.

Harry flew close to Draco and leaned over the broom to yell in his ear. "Do you want to go down for a bit? Get a coffee?"

Draco turned his shivering and not amused face to Harry and tried to speak through chattering teeth, "w-w-w-whiskey?"

"Whatever." Harry spoke the word to empty air. Draco had already gone into a dive and Harry followed him towards the ground, scanning the landscape for a reasonable patch of lights that would signify a village or town that would still be open for business. It was only twilight, but Harry knew full well that country England shut down early, especially in the winter – still, if Draco wanted Whiskey they would be looking for a pub, and that wouldn't be hard to find. Draco seemed to know where he was going, which surprised Harry. They were heading for a darker patch of ground, possibly a park or a green, when they got closer he realized they would touch down in a thick clump of trees.

Draco was standing at the edge of the trees, looking out over the small green at a row of lights along the lane way. He looked cold and wet and none to happy.

"D-d-do you h-h-ave any idea where we are?" Harry shivered.

Draco grimaced and shivered along with Harry, "Burnley - I think." He pointed to a sign pointing south that read 'Hoggarts Cross' as if that would mean something to Harry. "Dad brought me here as a kid, there's a big Goblin population here."

They wandered off the green and made their way down a cobbled lane. In the twilight people still ambled about the streets, rugged up warm against the cold, walking dogs, pushing children in prams and even riding bicycles. Draco was shaking his head and muttering about the insanity of Muggles. Not that Harry and Draco were being particularly sane, flying north in mid winter was not the wisest idea Harry had ever had. A few people turned to stare at the two young men in long dark cloaks holding broomsticks and walking calmly into town, most thought them a couple of misplaced Goths come up from London and left them well alone.

"Pub." Draco pointed at the end of the lane and hurried towards it. Harry followed, wondering for the first time if they had any Muggle money. He searched his pockets for his wallet. He had a number of Galleons, some Knuts and sickles and, he sighed with relief, a twenty pound note in the billfold. Enough to get them a few drinks.

The pub was old and dark and warm. A fire blazed in the hearth and Draco stopped in front of it, removing his gloves from his frozen hands and warming them gently. Harry slid the wet cloak off his shoulders and did the same for Draco; he then removed his own gloves and copied Draco's actions with the fire. The heat felt good, stinging a little as his hands defrosted. He hung the cloaks on a peg and pushed Draco towards a booth while he went to the bar.

"Triple whiskey, no ice and a pint of Carlsberg." Harry glanced back to where Draco, having stashed the brooms in the corner, was making himself comfortable and looking about the pub with wonder at all the Muggles out drinking. He and wondered if he should get him something to go with the Whiskey. Probably not – and drinking a pint of lager probably wasn't the best thing to do before he got back on the broom for another few hours. He knew what was going to happen. Draco would suggest Apparating due to the extreme cold and Harry, still not wanting to get back, would say no and they would no doubt end up fighting about it. Harry paid for the drinks and carried them over to the table, deciding that the best form of defence was to not mention it and hope Draco didn't either.

"I have a proposition for you." Draco downed the whiskey in once gulp, grimaced and looked well satisfied. He pushed the glass towards Harry.

 _Here it comes,_ Harry sighed and prepared himself for a fight. "Do you want another drink?"

"Yep." Draco stared rummaging through his pockets.

"I've got it," Harry sighed again and headed back to the bar. When he returned Draco repeated the process with the Whiskey.

"They have rooms here," Draco grinned, "I saw a sign."

Harry slumped back to the bar, counted out change to get Draco another drink and enquired about the cost of rooms. Returning to Draco he held the drink back, "Slow down," he ordered before handing it to him and Draco reluctantly swirled the liquid around the glass. "Rooms are thirty pounds for the night – and they don't rent on an hourly basis, if that's what you're thinking." Harry had no idea why he was irritated, possibly because he was prepared for a fight and Draco was suggesting stopping for a quick shag – no doubt his way of easing into the Apparating suggestion.

Draco shrugged and sipped his drink, resisting the urge to down it. "What I was going to say, before your mind sunk into the gutter, was that we stay the night. It's too cold to keep flying, by the time we get to school we'll be half dead with frostbite, and we don't need to get there until tomorrow anyway."

Harry flushed and felt himself relax a little. "I thought you were desperate to get back." He watched as Draco gave in to temptation and downed the whiskey, had it been Harry drinking it he would have been drunk by now. "Besides, we don't have enough money."

Draco returned to rummaging through his pockets.

"They don't take Wizard money," Harry heard his voice become a little shrill, his head was aching and he didn't feel like explaining to a Wizard why Muggles use paper instead of gold for financial transactions.

Draco frowned a little and threw six crumpled twenty pound notes onto the table. "Is that worth anything?" he asked genuinely confused as to the notes worth.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. He picked the notes up and smoothed them out absently, "that's heaps of money." He suddenly knew why he was so irritated. He just plain didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to stay with Draco and be able to do things like go to the pub together without raising eyebrows. He didn't want to have to sneak around the South West Tower just to spend a few precious moments of time with his lover.

"So are you going to get us a room?"

"What about Snape?" Harry asked dubiously.

Draco looked disconcerted for a moment, "I figure he probably won't get back until tomorrow anyway. I mean, he's got Hermione with him and from what I can see, they really like each other, so he isn't going to hurry back." He paused and smiled at Harry, "And it's warm here…with drinks…and I wouldn't mind one more night where we could just sleep and not have to worry about you getting back to your own bed."

Harry smiled, grateful and sickeningly in love.

"And all that broom riding has made me really fucking horny." Draco smiled his dazzling smile and Harry spluttered into his beer.

"I'll get a room."

"Good," Draco pushed his empty glass across the table, "and get us another drink while you're up."

******************************************

Semeuse was quite astonished that it was a Muggle that had given him the solution to his problem. He had now idea how the conversation had happened. He had been in Covent Garden, purchasing something to try and tempt Lucius from the Bakery in Neal's yard. The conversation had been about human instinct, base human instinct. The way someone will do anything to try and save themselves, the way drowning people cling to anything that could possibly save them.

And then the answer came to him. It had been so obvious that he berated himself for not realizing the potential before.

He returned to the Museum and made his way to the depths of the cellars, there he opened the doors that lead to the large swimming pool that had lain dormant for over a century. It was build in an ornate style, almost Greco-roman as was the fashion in the Seventeenth Century when it has been installed. Semeuse's own teacher, the Curator Sharn, had discontinued it's use, reasoning that the Museum was a place of learning, the Curator had no need for luxuries such as this. Semeuse had found it one night when he was younger and prowling about his domain, but had closed the doors, not seeking to restore it to it's former glory. Not so now. He had the House Elves clean it and fill it with water. He looked at the pool and decided that it was perfect to carry out his experiment.

The day after New Years he took Lucius to the room and leaned him against a large marble column. He looked pale and luminous in this cavernous room, even with all the lights blazing. It was the first time Semeuse had removed him from his own chambers since Boxing Day.

"I thought you might like a little swim." He smiled thinly at Lucius who stared blankly ahead. He removed the cotton shift, pulling it over the Angels head and leaving him naked. The room was cold and Semeuse thrilled when a shiver rushed across the pale flesh. He was going to get colder yet.

Semeuse lifted Lucius from the floor and carried him to the pool. With the greatest care he placed him into the water on his back and watched was Lucius floated effortlessly, blond hair fanning out in all directions like tendrils of light. He then removed his own clothes and waded out to the floating Angel. The water came up to his chest and was quite warm, just as he required it to be. For Lucius, however, the case was different. Semeuse was particularly good at charms and this one had been one of his greater accomplishments. While the water for him was warm and the depth reasonable, for Lucius it was as cold as a mountain river and as deep as the ocean. Lucius could sink for hours and never reach the bottom, but as he floated safely at the top, Semeuse doubted that he knew it.

He allowed Lucius to float for a while, enjoying the sight of the splayed limbs, the pale chest with pink nipples, even the curve of his arm-pit was a treasure for Semeuse, the hair there was golden, the same colour as the thatch of pubic hair surrounding his flaccid penis. Semeuse doubted that there would ever be a moment that he would ever tire of looking at that body.

It came as Semeuse counted forty, and Lucius inhaled, filling his lungs with water. The reaction was instantaneous. Lucius began to thrash wildly about in the water, forcing Semeuse to strengthen his hold on Lucius' head. The Curator held Lucius under the water with a strength no one would have considered possible in a man of his years. He had expected this reaction. This was base human instinct and that was something that anyone who had received the kiss would still have. The need to survive was the bodies base calling, a primal urge. It was what happened after Lucius knew he was safe that would interest Semeuse. When the survival instinct was no longer required, would Lucius step up and take over?

He kept Lucius under through another attempted breath, ensuring that the body was convinced it would drown and had begun to thrash harder – and then he released him, and he popped to the surface like a cork. Lucius coughed and choked, bringing a smile to Semeuse's face. It was the first sound he had ever heard from the Angels lips. A thin stream of water and bile ran from Lucius' mouth and over his chin, but it wasn't enough, he couldn't get his breath and he sank back under the water, thrashing, trying to stay afloat in a body that had forgotten the movements required to swim. Semeuse pulled him to the surface again and listened to him cough, fearing for a moment that he may well have to resuscitate him.

Lucius' fingers closed around Semeuse's arms as he found something stable to keep him above the water. Semeuse felt tears well in his eyes, how long had he wanted this very thing? To feel Lucius cling to him, to feel that body move against him. Now here he was, moving as a primal instinct to survive, clinging to what would keep him alive. Lucius' legs wrapped around the Curators body and the fingers dug hard into his shoulders, Semeuse felt his cock harden against the Angels thigh and he slid his own arms around Lucius, supporting him, holding him up.

Gently he slid his hands down under the curve of Lucius' bony hip, stroking between Lucius' small buttocks until he found his entrance and gently, he pushed a finger into the tight opening.

Lucius tensed, uncoiled and let go of Semeuse. The Curator watched in amazement as Lucius physically pushed away from him – and began to sink again. The thrashing resumed in earnest until Semeuse dragged him back to the surface and felt arms and legs clamour up the length of his body, once again holding tight. Even the Angels face had changed. He was cold and shivering, his mouth open, and his eyes wide. He looked terrified. Semeuse slid his hands onto the Angel again, penetrated him with his finger again, and Lucius pushed away, sinking back into the depths of the water.

On the third time Lucius realized he couldn't win. If he pushed away he would sink, and his body wasn't going to let him simply drown. He clung to Semeuse while the Curator pushed first one, then another finger deep into his body. Then he removed his fingers and replaced them with the length of his cock.

"D-o-n't"

Semeuse froze, still inside the Angel. The voice had been so soft, so hesitant. But it had been there. He pulled back and looked at the Angel who was staring back at him with perfect comprehension, a tear slicked down Lucius' cheek.

"P-please…don't"

"So you are there, little one?" Semeuse smiled, even as the look of comprehension faded from Lucius' face and his eyes dulled.

It was clear that the panic had prompted the Angels mind to the surface, but he couldn't hold it long. He had managed scant words and now he was gone again, back into whatever recesses held him. Semeuse pushed up into him, pulling the Angel down hard and grinding his hips against him. He worked him roughly until the water began to take on a shade of pink from the blood and then he pulled Lucius from the water, wrapped him in a towel and held him tight. He was his, and his mind was intact. Not that it made any difference. Lucius would never leave his current state, not if Semeuse could help it. The fact that he was aware simply added another facet to Semeuse's pleasure – and if he wanted his affections returned, he could now use the pool.

"You are mine, Lucius. I know you can hear me. You are mine and no one will ever be able to change that. I know, you must miss your son, but don't fret on that count, I will have him with you soon and we will all be together, as a family. Just the way it should be. I will do anything to protect you Lucius, I love you more than anyone could ever love you and I will not give you up. Not now, not ever."

***************************************************

Draco was drunk, stupidly so, and Harry was glad he'd paid for the room before they started drinking in earnest because there was nothing of the money left. Harry was more than a little drunk himself, but as he slid an arm around Draco's waist and pulled him towards the stairs, he knew he was far more in control than his lover could possibly be. Draco was slurring sloppy words in Harry's direction, giggling childishly and snuggling close to Harry's body, being blatantly sexual in the main bar. Not that a Muggle taking exception to a couple of fags in the pub would be a problem, even drunk they could hex someone into oblivion, and Harry was enjoying it. Drunk and sloppy Draco was certainly something he didn't mind.

"I love you," Draco slurred, "you're my fucking…my fucking…I don't know what the fuck you are…"

"Boyfriend?" Harry suggested.

"Nah! That sounds fucking stupid."

Harry chuckled and edged Draco closer to the stairs.

"You're more than a boyfriend anyway." Draco said with a sincerity that only a drunk could pull off, "you are my fucking life."

"Oh I think you'd live without me," Harry said jovially.

Draco dug his heels in, standing on his own and swaying a little. He stared at Harry, looking a little miserable. "No I wouldn't. You are my life. I can't live without my life."

"It's time for bed Draco." Harry smiled and slipped his arm around Draco again. It probably looked a little odd to people in the bar, Harry holding the drunk blond in one hand and two broomsticks in the other. He just wanted to get Draco upstairs before someone said anything that would raise his ire. Harry had no doubt Draco would hex any unfortunate Muggle who deemed to say anything derogatory about them.

Then he heard it, a voice Harry had honestly hoped he would never have to hear again in the entire of his life. A voice that made Harry freeze and chilled him to the bone. He jerked his head in the direction and heard it again.

"Come now Duddikins, we have an early start in the morning and we need a good nights sleep."

Harry groaned and pulled Draco desperately up the stairs. It wasn't fair, what the hell were they doing here? In rural England for Gods sake? "Draco, honey, you have to help me here, put your feet on the stairs."

"Let's just fucking Apparate, I can't walk right…"

Harry certainly wasn't going to risk that, in his current state Draco would probably splinch himself and explaining how Harry had let that happen to the healers at St Mungos wouldn't be fun. "Just move your fucking feet!"

Draco moved, missed the step, and fell hard, smacking his chin against the heavy wood. Harry swore and swooped down on Draco, attempting to hurl him to his feet. It was too late now, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Duddikins had mounted the stairs, staring with all too apparent disgust at the drunken heap on the stairs, and they didn't realize exactly who it was at first. Not until Harry stood up and turned around – and came face to face with them.

"Potter!" Vernon Dursley spat. Had he more time to think, a moment to prepare for the confrontation, he would have ignored his nephew as though he was a total stranger. Unfortunately, there had been no time and the sight of the boy he had come to hate with such venom was a complete shock. Thus the word flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself.

"Hello Uncle Vernon."

The sharp crack to Draco's jaw had sobered him somewhat and he was standing unaided behind Harry. Harry cast a look of concern in his direction and discovered that Draco was staring at the Dursley's with unreserved disdain.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia…Dudley…this is Draco Malfoy, Draco, this is…"

"Your relatives," Draco finished. He eyed them with a sneer. "Muggles," he said, as though the word itself was enough to make him dirty.

The Dursley's were looking at Draco in very much the same way he was looking at them. Finally Petunia, remembering her manners and conscious of the fact that anyone might be watching the exchange, cleared he throat and attempted a tight smile. "Hello Mr. Malfoy," she said with forced politeness.

Draco nodded curtly.

Vernon Dursley was not as polite as his wife. He felt an unreasonable outrage as he glared at his unwanted nephew and wondered how it was possible that the boy could just turn up here, in a seemingly innocuous little hamlet where his sort should never be allowed. "What are you doing here Potter?" he hissed, "I thought you and your freaky little friends went and got yourselves killed in that war you were babbling about."

It really was the wrong choice of words, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little sorry for his Uncle as Draco's wand jabbed up under his chin. The again, he had never seen his uncle look quite so terrified and Draco was positively growling. Harry couldn't suppress a smile and he raised an eyebrow.

"No, Uncle Vernon, I managed to survive it." He watched a brief look of disappointment flit across his uncle's face and Draco dug his wand in a little harder. Vernon had begun to sweat, Petunia was looking nervous and Harry feared that Dudley was speculating on whether or not he could possible take Draco out. Draco caught the look as well and flicked his wand around to Harry's vast cousin.

"Trust me fat boy, I've wasted bigger Muggles than you and if you even look like touching me I'll kill you so fast y…"

"DRACO!"

"They're fucking Muggles Harry."

"Leave him alone."

"I've killed worse Harry." Draco grinned evilly, "and he's just a lump who made your life a misery, what do you care if he's gone?"

Harry swallowed and tried to look unsurprised at the recent turn in events. He smiled a tight little smile of his own and turned to his Uncle. "As you can see, Uncle Vernon, we are not children any more – and Draco never was into good magic."

Petunia decided, for the sake of her darling boy, to play peacemaker. "S-so, Mr. Malfoy," she hesitated and cleared her throat, "how long have you known Harry?"

Draco lowered his wand reluctantly and straightened. "Seven and a half years," he said matter of factly, "but I've only been shagging him for a few months."

 _Oh dear Merlin_. Harry felt the blood drain from his face and Aunt Petunia swayed. Draco turned and stormed up the first flight of stairs, leaving Harry with his gaping relatives.

"He's – he's a little – drunk."

Vernon looked around, then leaned in a hissed quietly, "I always knew you were queer, this just proves it."

"Harry?"

Harry glanced up at Draco who was staring back at him.

"Are you coming to bed or are you going to stay there with the Muggles all night?"

Harry took a deep breath, realizing that Draco was probably only still standing because there were Muggles about and if Harry didn't get there soon he'd probably fall back down the stairs and hex the Dursley's because he was embarrassed. Harry shrugged, turned on his heel and took off up the stairs to help Draco the rest of the way.

*********************************************  
Please go to Part chapter 11 part 2


	27. Into the Labyrinth Part 2

Chapter 11 - Part 2

**********

 _"When he returned I did not react as I had hoped I would. I felt no happiness. I felt no sudden charge of energy that would signal a fulfilment of my desires. Instead I felt a creeping certainty, that this was the end. I feared for my son. I feared for his fate and I wanted only to guard him jealously against the power he so desperately craved. I could only imagine ways to keep him from my Master's hand and I knew that the struggle to keep him would be futile. Eventually my son would become like me, serving an old man reborn who keeps us in check with fear._

 _And I do fear him._

 _I found a book, an ancient one that shows Ragnarok – when all is brought to ruin. A man with a serpent's heart has devoured Odin and sits upon a throne. Death has come to the gods, to the giants, to the elves and dwarfs, to men and women, the sons and daughters of Ask and Embla. First the moon and the stars will be lost in a dense white fog, then the rivers and the lakes and the sea will freeze over. And finally a wolf named Skoll will open his jaws and eat the sun, sending the world into an everlasting night._

 _I think I hear the wolf at the door."_

Severus Snape snapped shut the book, his long fingers splayed across the black leather cover. Scowling, Snape pushed himself away from the table and circled the edges of the room. Hermione was reading peacefully in the centre of the library. Resting back on a moth eaten old chaise and surrounded by candles, she looked like something from another world. He liked the fact that she was there. She had not questioned him as to what he was reading and he had not bothered to make a similar request of her. From what he could see she was reading a Transfigurations text book, no doubt studying for NEWTS.

Snape's own choice of Lucius Malfoy's journal was the more interesting subject matter, but certainly something to be kept from prying eyes. In it's pages Snape was hoping to find a clue as to what Lucius had done to save himself, something other than the half finished potion and incantation which gave Snape absolutely nothing to work with. So far he had found only thoughts and tales, sometimes as deep as the ocean and other times startlingly vacant, from Lucius' butterfly-like mind.

"Something troubling you?"

He turned and forced a smile to his lips, feeling very much as though he had suddenly been caught out. Hermione placed her book on the floor and stretched sinuously on the chaise, and then she slumped ungraciously and chewed at a lock of her hair.

"No, nothing is troubling me."

"Liar."

"School, papers. Nothing for you to worry about."

She smiled indulgently. "Alright," she said, "keep your secrets." She sat up and crossed her legs on the lounge. "Watch this."

He raised a cynical eyebrow and moved towards her.

"No, stay there and watch."

Snape did as he was told and Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deep – and slowly, she began to change. He felt a smile spread across his face as she seemed to curl in on herself, meld and merge and shrink until finally, she wasn't Hermione at all, but a small, furry, Otter.

 _My how my girlfriend is a clever little thing._ This sat well with him, for he could never love a stupid woman. "You really are the most dreadful show off, do you know that?"

The Otter looked at him and he could almost discern that it raised an eyebrow – and then it began to shake and Hermione emerged from its form and grinned expectantly. He folded his arms and remained silent.

"Well? Come on! Tell me I'm wonderful; stroke my ego. You know how needy I am for attention. I want to hear Professor Snape praise me for a change."

"I think you have heard Professor Snape praise you a great deal more than is usual in the last few days."

"I want to hear it now."

Snape drew an indulgent breath and told the truth; "That was wonderful." He felt a sudden surge of emotion fill his throat. Yes, his girlfriend was clever indeed. "Very impressive. Minerva will be thrilled."

"Actually, Draco taught me how to do it."

"Draco?" Another clever little thing…well, not so little anymore.

"He wants to duel by changing into animals and we thought we might try it together."

Snape felt irrational jealousy seep into his brain. Hermione and Draco, working together on something he had no part of. And couldn't have any part of. Transfiguration wasn't his…strongest…subject. In fact, he had been lucky to pass. He curled his lip and said with silky disdain; "I see little point in reviving an ancient form of duelling that no one has the skills to perform. Wands are perfectly adequate. Most transfiguration duels tended to end in one party devouring the other, something which I am sure you will find distasteful – not to mention Mr. Potter's disappointment should you eat his lover."

Hermione lowered her eyes; she had really hoped he would be impressed, intrigued by the idea, instead his voice was full of derision. She felt tears come and sting her eyes.

"Are you crying?" Snape's irrational jealousy was fast being replaced by pure irritation. What was she crying about? He'd told her it was impressive, what more did she want, a parade?

"No!"

But of course she was. Snape sighed and wondered exactly what he should do. In all honesty he would rather just pick up Lucius' journal and head off to bed with it than spend the next however long trying to work out just why she was crying. Gods how he hated teary women.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

He rolled his eyes. "Have I said something to offend you?"

"No."

"Can you at least attempt to communicate with me with more than one word to a sentence?"

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed harder.

 _Oh this is just ridiculous_. "If you won't tell me what is wrong, how am I supposed to fix it?"

 _You should know what you did wrong you prick!_ No answer.

"I am going to bed. Please feel free to come up when you decide to act in a more rational manner." He picked up the journal from his desk and swept from the room.

Harry found Draco at the top of the first flight of stairs and he noted wryly that their room was on the second floor. No sooner had he found Draco than he turned on him. "Killing Muggles?"

Draco's head was spinning from the whiskey he had consumed and the joint he'd popped off to the bathroom to smoke. Harry had tried to get him to order something to eat, but he was too far gone and when Harry's own dinner arrived, he wouldn't attempt to eat what looked like a large pile of extremely tasteless stew. Harry's reasoning was that, regardless of flavour, it would at least line his stomach. Draco had turned his nose up and was now paying the price. He leaned heavily against the wall. "I didn't kill anyone; don't get your knickers in a twist."

"I don't like being lied to!"

"Can we talk about this when we get to our room?"

"No, we can talk about it now, as I said, I don't like being lied to. Who have you killed?"

"No one! Anyway, I wasn't lying to you, I was lying to them."

"It's all the same thing Draco!"

"What? No it's not!" Draco looked around desperately; he was feeling worse by the minute. "What was I supposed to do? Let that bastard call me a freak and wish you were dead? Let that fat fuck smack me in the head? I'm sorry Harry. I wasn't raised that way. I won't take shit from Muggles; I don't care whose relatives they are! Now, get your arse up the stairs so we can go to bed."

"Can you even walk?" Harry asked hotly.

"Of course I can fucking walk." Draco pushed himself off the wall and lost his balance, almost falling headlong over the banister. Harry caught him and he leaned into Harry's arms, slipping his arms around Harry's waist. "Don't be mad at me," he whispered.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, obviously still angry.

Draco's stomach churned. He really shouldn't have drunk most of two bottles of scotch. He could imagine it sloshing around in his stomach, mingling with the only other possible contents, the semen he had swallowed before they had set out that morning. He got the mental image, deep amber swirling through pearly white and he dry heaved. Only his desire not to vomit all over Harry stopped him.

"I'm fine," he said, his face pressed into the front of Harry's jumper and it came out as a slurry muffled word. "I just got a little drunk, that's all. I'm just being a stupid shit."

Harry was not going to argue with that. He didn't consider Muggle killing, even in jest and even if it was the Dursley's, as something to be used as a threat. And he wasn't so happy that Draco was this drunk – again.

"I love you," Draco mumbled into Harry's jumper.

Now that just wasn't fair.

"I love you too," Harry whispered, just as the Dursley's came around the corner.

They glared, Petunia hurrying off to find their room, dragging Vernon with her. Dudley stopped, ascertained that Draco was in no fit state to hex him and hissed, "fucking little fairies."

Harry didn't think, didn't even consider that maybe Draco couldn't stand up at all. He turned to confront his cousin. Draco tumbled forward, fell against Dudley and caught the whiff of some foul Muggle aftershave. He felt his stomach give way. He heaved dry and painful once, twice and on the third the entire contents of his stomach streamed out covering Dudley Dursley from head to toe.

Harry felt a slow smile spread across his face and as he moved forward quickly to pull Draco off his cousin who was looking murderous, he began to laugh.

*****************************************

 _"This place is not how I imagined. It is said that a man will go mad in here, given long enough. For some it could take days, others weeks, months or even years. It is said that one can forget the rudimentary pleasures of life. Sunlight on ones face, grass beneath ones feet, the smells of a summers day, the sound of a breeze rustling through leaves. It is dark here to be sure – but I have been in darker places than this, and as hard as it is to fathom, I feel safe here._

 _I know that the Dark Lord will come and spirit us away. I think the only ones who don't know this are the Ministry themselves. They put such great stock in their fortress and in the ones they pay in souls to keep guard. But the Dementors are leaving and stone walls will not keep the Dark Lord from his servants, not when he has to punish them for their failure. He will remove me from this place and I will kneel before him and thank him for it, even as he screams Crucio and fills my body with fire._

 _It is the way of things and I cannot help but curse the hour the green-eyed brat was born._

 _But in my darkest dreams, in my shadow self whose hand I now indulge, in these places I dare to pray that the boy wins…"_

Snape let the book fall onto his lap and shook his head. Lucius always did have a flair for dramatics. Still, it did raise certain questions; had he gone into battle secretly hoping to lose? Or had this entry simply been the result of a momentary melancholy brought on by sitting in a cell in Azkaban? When it came to Lucius' mind, Snape never could tell what was going on. It would have been easier if he could think of Lucius in the same way that most of the Wizard world did, a two dimensional villain, hungry for power. Of course Snape knew differently. Lucius was a loving father, and he was even a good husband. He knew his way around a joke and was generous to a fault. But Lucius' capacity for love contrasted so blatantly with his cold ability to kill other people's children that it chilled Snape to the core. Did it make him more of a monster, because he could love?

Then again, Snape himself had a capacity for love, something he was getting a crash course in at the moment, and he had been able to kill without thinking. He probably still could, when it came down to it. So perhaps he was a monster too.

A quiet knock on the door drew him from his thoughts and he closed the book as Hermione slipped into the room. She really didn't need to knock, but he could see from the red eyes and well chewed lip that she was suitably cowed. He felt a guilty pang at the fact that he had made here cry, a sensation that did not sit well with him, especially since he had made her cry any number of times in the past. Still, this was not the classroom, this was his house – and here she was not his student but his lover. He had to learn to curb his natural tendencies when it came to her, or else he might find himself alone and miserable – again.

"I'm sorry," Hermione sniffled, "I just thought you'd be more impressed than that…and I always get a bit emotional when my period is due."

Snape had been about to respond, to say something loving and gentle that he knew she would want to hear, like _'I was impressed darling,'_ or something of that nature. Instead his mouth fell open. She had thrown the subject of her period into the sentence so casually that he'd almost missed it. Of course he knew she would have one, he just didn't think he'd have to hear about it in terms other than _"I can't tonight dear, it's that time of the month."_

And she got 'emotional' like this each month? Merlin's Balls!

"I…" he swallowed. When was the damn thing due? Did she have everything she needed to deal with it? They had been shopping in Diagon Ally the previous day, to get her new robes and a new travel cloak, she could hardly return to Hogwarts in Potters old cut offs or the red velvet ball gown she had worn for New Years. Had she surreptitiously gone to get what she needed then? He decided to avoid the subject and focus on what he did understand. "I was impressed, Hermione, very impressed. You have to forgive me, I am sure that you know enough of me to know that I have great difficulty appointing praise on anyone. I will try and do better in the future."

"I don't want you to," she said quickly, moving to the bed and hesitating only a moment before climbing up and sliding over the covers to him. "I don't want to change you, I like you just as you are."

Now that was going a little far, no one liked him as he was…except maybe Minerva. It was too late anyway; she had already changed him.

"I'm sorry I made you cry," he said uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry I cried."

"So we are both sorry," he scowled and muttered; "pathetic couple that we are."

Hermione grinned and slowly pulled her robes over her head, bringing a wry smile to Snape's face.

He reached for a small breast, "well, perhaps not entirely pathetic."

Harry stared helplessly at the mess in the middle of the Common Room and felt his stomach plummet. He had hoped for a better return to Hogwarts than this. His day had, after all, started well enough. Draco, being a veritable medicine chest, had plenty of hangover potions, brewed by the Potions Master himself and so they had woken and felt just fine. Then Draco's smooth cock had slid easily between Harry's lips and he'd brought his lover to orgasm with his mouth and consequently was able to convince him to travel the remainder of their journey by broom with little argument. Harry had long since made a mental note to himself that asking Draco to do something when he was post orgasmic usually yielded a positive result. He'd even managed to get Draco to eat something; no small task considering what was on offer. He had learned over the holiday that Draco ate little and was notoriously picky. He preferred yogurt at breakfast, plain, and no fruit - though occasionally he would eat toast. Today was a day when he wouldn't eat toast, but Harry had managed to force a bowl of cornflakes down his throat without too much trouble…even though Draco thought the product highly dubious…Cornflakes, it seemed, had never quite captured the Wizard market. So they had flown, with full bellies, through the freezing Scottish winter, and returned to this.

What had started out as a neat collection of packed boxes had ended in everything that Harry owned and possibly ever touched, being heaped in the middle of the South West Tower Common Room. Ron had obviously started calmly and let his anger build as his self imposed task progressed. Harry stood in front of the pile, still in his wet cloak, staring at his life piled there on the floor; it didn't take long to register that every gift he had ever given Ron was included in the junk. He felt a little sick and his lip curled in shock and disbelief. Ron was throwing him out of their room! Where was he going to sleep? He turned and looked at Draco helplessly and Draco shrugged, looking at the pile of clothes and books and other belongings and wondering if Harry had always possessed such low brow tastes. As far as he was concerned, the whole lot could go in the incinerator and Harry could just start afresh.

As if on cue the door to the Tower opened and their classmates began to filter into the room, all a little lazy from having eaten a large dinner and really not looking forward to starting back tomorrow. Their last six months would be the hardest, and the NEWTS were not far off. Upon seeing Harry and Draco, many stopped dead in their tracks, gaping openly at them. They had all seen the paper or at least heard something of what was being said. Ron was, of course, only too happy to fill in some details. He had seen it with his own eyes after all. When the pair had not returned the previous night there had been speculation that they would not return at all – too embarrassed to show their faces. It would have appalled Ron, but plenty of his friends were pleased to see Harry standing there. It didn't gel with what they knew of him. Harry Potter would never run away and hide.

Eyes began to focus on Draco with renewed interest. Over the last few months he had gathered a few people who had begrudgingly liked him. He was generous with his money, always able to procure alcohol from somewhere, or provide a feast in the early hours. Of course, many knew that it was his efforts at bribing people to be good to him. He was a Malfoy after all and he was politically astute. This may be school, but he knew if he was to survive his final year he would need to have some good will thrown his way. Now it turned out he had taken his efforts that one step further and was buggering their hero. Opinion on this front was mixed. Over the holidays many had listened to discussions in Diagon Alley, or around their own dinner tables. Everyone in the Wizard world had an opinion it seemed. The foremost being that Malfoy had bewitched Harry somehow – or used Harry's own innocence as a tool to get what he wanted. Either way, a Malfoy was once again in the spotlight. There had even been talk of having him questioned by the Ministry about his actions.

When Ron finally entered the room and saw Harry, he hardened the lines of his face and rounded the room quickly, avoiding Harry's eye and aiming to storm to his room without comment to wait until Harry had removed his belongings and slunk off in shame.

"I think those socks are yours," Harry said, breaking the silence and stopping Ron dead in his tracks.

"I'm pretty sure you wore them last," Ron replied defensively.

"Oh? Well, they're yours, you should take them back."

"I don't want anything that's had your fagot feet in them."

Harry flushed pink and he ground his teeth together in an effort to stop himself hexing Ron on the spot. "Then leave them for the House Elves because I don't want them."

Ron marched forward and swiftly hurled the offensive socks across the room, "there, gone."

Harry sighed and slumped. "Can't we just talk about this?"

"There is nothing to talk about. You made your bed," he glared at Draco, "shitty fucking thing that it is; now you can lie in it."

 _What kind of idiotic reasoning was that?_ "Ron…where am I supposed to sleep?"

Ron smirked, "how about outside in Hagrid's old hog house? You should be used to sharing your bed with pigs by now"

Harry made to answer but was stopped when Draco snorted impatiently and pushed past him, grabbing armfuls of Harry's things and storming to his room with them.

"Oh well," Ron sneered, "looks like the hogs won't have a new buddy after all, and it looks like you're staying with lover boy." Ron watched as Draco returned, "You never know, we might all be lucky and he'll prove he's his Fathers murderous little shit after all, maybe you should learn to sleep with one eye open."

"Trust me Weasel," Draco grabbed more of Harry's things, ignoring his lover who was standing there in stunned silence, "he sleeps a damn sight better with me than he ever did in that shitty fucking room with you. The noises you make when you jerk off would be enough to keep anyone awake."

"Oh yeah, _Malfoy,_ and all he has to worry about with you is an unwelcome cock up his arse…"

"Actually Weasel, my cock up his arse is never unwelcome."

Ron curled his lip in disgust; "you sick fuck," he hissed at Harry, "You let him do that?"

Harry shook for a moment, he didn't know what to say and Ron had turned from him, still sneering, shaking his head. "What is so sick about it?" Harry asked finally, bringing Ron back with an incredulous look on his face.

"If you don't know what is sick about letting that… _cunt_ …stick his cock in you, then you have more problems than I thought."

Harry glared at the boy in front of him and suddenly couldn't remember what it felt like to be his friend. He looked around the room and felt like a specimen in a zoo, being looked at with ill disguised curiosity. They had all made up their own minds, none of them cared that Harry was a living, feeling being. What they cared about was the fact that he had killed Voldemort, he was famous, and there was a statue of him in the foyer of the Ministry of Magic. How could he have allowed himself to be caught up in this? How could he have allowed Malfoy's heir to defile him? He was supposed to marry a nice girl, have children to carry on the family name, raise a future hero to live up to him.

"There is nothing sick about it," Harry said, he couldn't yell, he knew there was a shrillness in his voice that he didn't want to hear if he yelled. "There is nothing sick in what we do. I love him…"

"Oh please!" Ron rolled his eyes, "You're too fucking dazed to see the truth. He's a lying little prick, and there is nothing left in his family line but murder and lies. He's got you bewitched. You were a virgin and he sucked your cock and now you think you love him. "

"I pursued him!"

Ron fell silent and worked a muscle in his cheek as he absorbed that news and Harry grinned, triumphant for a moment.

"That's right," Harry declared, knowing he was talking to more than just Ron as he made his statement. "I wanted him, I've always wanted him. I can't recall a moment when I didn't want him - and now I have him and I don't care what you think. I am not going to give him up because you and a few small minds think it is wrong. Draco is right; his cock in my arse feels good. I like it. I like it when he fucks me, and I like it when he touches me, sucks me, and kisses me. I like it when I do all of those things to him - and none of that is going to change, no matter how dirty you think it is, so get used to it." Harry's eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a dangerous whisper for Ron and Ron alone to hear, "and if you touch so much as a hair on his head I will kill you, don't think that I won't."

Ron stepped back, visibly paled but with his sneer still fixed in place. He turned, glaring around at the people who had watched the altercation, and swept off to his room. Harry released a breath he didn't know he was holding and bowed his head sadly to his chest. Draco stood awkwardly behind him, his arms still full of Harry's things.

"Come on," Draco said quietly, "let's just get this stuff to our room."

Harry nodded, still shaking.

"And look on the bright side," Draco tried to smile, but the result was unconvincing, he sounded a little shaken himself, "at least there will be no more sneaking around."

***********************************************

Ron closed the door to his room and pressed his back against the solid wood. So it was done. He had just shut his best friend out, and created a rift he was unlikely to ever repair. Not that he wanted to repair it. Not while Harry chose to be with Malfoy anyway.

There was a letter sitting in the middle of his bed and he wondered how it had got there. The door had been closed and it was far too late for post. He picked it up and turned it over, revealing his own family seal. The hand was familiar, belonging to George and Ron felt his heart begin to race.

 _Dear God he knows._

Ron sank to the edge of the bed and fumbled with the letter, his trembling fingers tearing the paper instead of the seal at first, before finally getting it open.  
 _  
"Dear Ron_ (Ron flinched at the affection of the dear, but his mind was immediately put to rest, this was not a letter to condemn him for sleeping with Georges wife)

 _Fred and I have been given the opportunity to purchase Zonko's Joke Shop in Hogsmeade. As you can imagine, this is an opportunity far too good to pass up, especially with Hogwarts being so close. Zonko has placed a large number of clauses into the sale and as such I am wary of just how well the shop is doing. I know that we took a lot of his business with our mail order system and he wants to keep a lot of his own product on the shelves. As such, I am sending Angelina to do the books on the shop for the next month. She will be staying at the Three Broomsticks and as you have more freedom this year, I've told her that you will go and see her a few nights a week for dinner and drinks and keep her company._

 _I would be really grateful if you could do this, as I'd hate to think she was sitting in her room all alone with no one to talk to. You both get along so well, and I'm sure having your sister in law around won't cramp your style._

 _Ange will arrive next weekend, I will owl you with the time._

 _Thanks_

 _George."_

Ron sat for a long while, holding the letter loosely in his hand and wondering how she had managed to do this. It had to have been Angelina's idea – and she had made it seem to George that he had thought of it. Not that it really mattered how she did it. The point was that she had.

And she was coming to torment him again, and bring fresh supplies of her drug – something that warmed him somewhat. He was living in terror of it running out. The situation confused him and for a moment he contemplated running back out to the Common Room, bursting into Malfoy's room and begging Harry to forgive him, to help him with this, to give him solace. It was something he would never do. He knew that his only recourse was to continue to play his part in whatever game Angelina had planned, and pray that he would make it through to the end with his convoluted self-intact.

***********************************************

Draco looked at the mess his room had become. He was tidy by nature, not something that had been drummed into him, but more a habit he had picked up from parents who were almost fastidiously clean. Common misconception would have it that Draco simply dropped things and left them for the House Elves to deal with, but this was quite simply not true. More often the person picking up things behind him would be either his Father or Mother who would give him a disapproving glare and he wouldn't do it again. Harry, on the other hand, had spent his life having tidiness thrust upon him and once he was away from his Aunt and Uncle, he had dispensed with such niceties. He dumped the last of his things on the floor and threw himself on the bed. Draco turned to stare at him.

"Don't you think we should try and put some of this stuff away?"

"Leave it, it'll still be there in the morning." Harry pulled his robes over his head, and then the jumper and t-shirt he wore under them, he patted the bed. "Come here Roomie."

"I think the point is that it will still be there in the morning. Don't you think we should put some of it away? Or better yet, hurl the whole lot out?"

Harry sat up and frowned. "Throw it out? Why?"

Draco cast a disparaging glance at Harry's belongings. "Well, most of it is junk. The clothes are what, four years old at least? The only reason they still fit you is because they belonged to the fat arsed cousin of yours."

"And what am I supposed to wear?"

"Umm, here's a suggestion, pull your wallet out of your arse and buy some new ones."

"Are you saying I'm cheap?"

Draco sighed and shook his head, "no, I'm just suggesting that perhaps you should spend your money on something more than basic school supplies, sweets, the occasional night out, and owl food."

"You think I look bad?" Harry lay back in the bed, dressed in little more than a pair of old cargo pants.

Draco grinned, "Well, not when you do that."

Harry patted the bed again, "come here."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I keep thinking you're wearing that fat lumps old pants."

Harry looked down at the cargo pants, "actually, these are mine…sort of. I got them from Oxfam."

"Oxfam?"

"Charity shop, Kilburn High Road."

"You got pants from a Muggle Charity Shop?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You're not poor you know."

"I know…" Harry blushed. "I…I'm not so good with clothes."

Draco grinned again and climbed onto the bed, crawling over Harry's supine body and staring down at him. He really was too irresistible. "I think we need to go shopping this weekend."

"You're going to dress me?"

"Right now I'm going to undress you."

Harry laughed throatily and drew Draco's head down to him, capturing his mouth in a kiss. Draco's eyes closed slowly and he felt himself melt into Harry's arms, his lips and tongue becoming liquid as his mouth was nudged open by a soft tongue that flicked along his inner lip, between his teeth and explored the roof of his mouth. The kiss became soft and slippery with spit as they tried desperately to draw as much of each other into their mouths as they could. Harry's hands buried themselves in Draco's moonlight collared hair, Draco's hands clawed and pulled at Harry's shoulders, neck and back, trying to pull Harry up to his body, to devour him. They both began to whimper, becoming desperate and the gentleness of the kiss dissolved and became something harder, more urgent, and more passionate.

The door burst open with a suddenness that caused them both to almost leap from their skins. Hermione stood framed in the doorway, her hair wildly about her shoulders, looking concerned.

"Are you okay Harry?"

Both boys gaped at her, had they been too loud? Had the whole Tower heard them? Surely not!

Hermione blinked and saw exactly what she had walked in on and ascertained fairly quickly that they were more than okay. "Oh shit, sorry."

"S'alright" Draco grinned, trailed a hand down Harry's chest and pushed himself up.

"I heard Ron kicked Harry out, I came to make sure he was…"

Okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm fine," Harry sat up and shrugged, feeling suddenly cold without Draco covering him. "I think I was more shocked than anything. I thought once he'd had time to calm down he might talk about it or something."

"Have you guys seen the Daily Prophet the last few days?"

They both shook their heads.

"Well, probably not a good idea to look now."

"It's in the paper?" Harry whispered, horrified.

"It's all over the paper. Severus said that Dumbledore had to intercept all of Draco's post to make sure there were no curses in any of them."

Draco's eyes widened. "Me? What did I do?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"And Ron told the papers?" Harry asked. He couldn't quite believe that Ron would do this to him.

"I don't know. I'd like to think that he didn't. The whole party was there when Ron found out though, so it could have been anyone."

"When did Ron turn into such an evil little prick?"

Draco snorted, "Since forever. Weasel was born a prick."

"Shut up Draco."

Draco turned on him, "the guy outed you to the whole of our world and he just humiliated in front of all of your friends! Why are you telling me to shut up? I'm the one getting hate mail!"

"I…" Harry frowned, "I don't know. He's…he's Ron."

"He's a wanker."

"I think he's got problems," Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, "I really think there's something going on with him. I mean, he is being completely irrational and that's not like him at all."

"Well," Harry grumbled defensively, "he's not talking to me, so there's nothing I can do about it."

Hermione tried to smile. "He's not talking to me either. I don't know what to do about it."

Draco threw his hands up in the air; exasperated at the direction the conversation was taking. "Fuck! Shit happened to everyone, if he can't deal with it let the miserable fucker drown."

Harry gave Draco a withering glare. "You can be a real fucking shit, you know that?"

"Yes dear," Draco retorted nastily, "but I'm your real fucking shit." He climbed off the bed and began pulling his robes on, seeing no real point in continuing if they were going to sit here discussing the Weasel's problems.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, confused for a moment.

"Well, Snape's back, right?"

Hermione nodded, blushing for a moment in pleasure.

"So, I'm going to see him. I have business to discuss with him, remember?"

"Yeah, but now?" Harry shivered. He wanted Draco back on the bed and Hermione out of the room, so why the hell was Draco leaving him now?

"Better now than later."

"For fucks sake Draco!"

"What? I have to see him, and I'd rather do it now than leave it another day. At least I know he isn't grading papers or something like that, and I know he'll be able to get it out of the way quickly and I'll be back."

Harry flung himself down on the bed with a frustrated growl.

"Don't worry, I won't be long." Draco grinned devilishly, "and I'll make the wait worth your while."

Harry still didn't look happy about it.

Draco moved forward and gently kissed Harry's swollen mouth; "I won't be long baby."

Harry grumbled.

Hermione patted his knee and laughed. "Come to my room, Lavender's come back with a case of Champagne."

Harry flushed and shook his head violently. "Uh, no, I…"

"Why?"

"I…I don't think…"

Hermione sighed and smiled gently. "She doesn't care you know, she doesn't care about you two being lovers – actually I think it turns her on a bit."

"Lav always was a bit of a dirty girl," Draco laughed.

Hermione laughed and nodded her agreement. "The point is that Ron doesn't speak for the whole school, Harry."

"He'd speak for plenty of people though," Harry muttered.

"Come and have a drink," Hermione pressed gently, "for me. Lavender wants you to come; she told me to invite you. Draco can come later."

"Go on," Draco urged, "you can't hide in here forever."

 _I can if I try hard enough._ Harry shifted uncomfortably, not bothering to hide the pout on his mouth. Slowly he nodded, "alright, I'll come for a drink."

"Good."

"But just one."

*****************************************


	28. Into the Labyrinth Part 3

Chapter 11 - Part 3

*****************************************

Severus Snape was not looking forward to Draco coming to the Dungeons that night. He knew Draco would come. He knew enough of the Malfoy's to know that they rarely, if ever, let up on something once they got it into their heads to pursue it – and Draco would never give up on his Father. Hell could freeze over and Draco would put on skies and keep going. He knew it was Draco as soon as he heard the knock at the door. The boy had probably been waiting impatiently for Snape's return.

After the incident on Boxing Day, Draco had wanted to return to Hogwarts with Severus and get to work on finding out what had happened to his Father. It had taken Snape hours to convince him that he should stay at the Manor and act as though nothing had happened. Snape had to admit that it was a selfish whim. He was so close to having Hermione, so close he could taste her, and returning to Hogwarts would have destroyed everything. He had reasoned with Draco that Potter had to be kept in the dark, and Draco returning to school hours after seeing his Father, was instantly going to arouse suspicion. Potter was good at putting two and two together, and he could make connections from the smallest fragments of evidence. How else had Harry Potter survived Voldemort?

In retrospect, it probably would have been better to bring his Godson back to Hogwarts early. Minerva had assured him that Potter and Draco being outed in front of hundreds of people had been quite spectacular, not to mention the fact that Moody had accosted the boy and threatened him – and some bastard had spat at him. Snape felt a raw surge of guilt. He'd promised Lucius that he would look after his son, and since Snape had made the promise, the boy had been tortured, almost died and then been ridiculed and threatened in Snape's own house. Some Godparent he'd turned out to be. And while Snape did not doubt that Potter knew about the Madragora Acid, he did doubt that Draco had revealed the true extent of the damage done. It had been Dumbledore, not Severus Snape who had saved Draco Malfoy after that little episode.

So all he could do now was try and protect him as best he could from any future harm.

Draco slipped into the room after Snape called him to enter. He looked pale and a little tired. Minerva had told him that he and Potter had actually flown from Wiltshire, which was madness – but he didn't put it past the pair.

"It's late Draco," he said bluntly. The boy clearly needed sleep and to own the truth, Snape needed it himself; Hermione was rather…active…at night. "We can discuss this tomorrow, after classes are finished."

"We can start now." Draco said, raising an eyebrow and trailing his fingers over a dusty copy of 'Daemonicus'. Snape bit back a sneer at the demeaning tone in Draco's voice. So much like Lucius that it wasn't funny. Draco leaned against the back of the chair and picked up the book. "So, what do you know?"

Snape sighed. He really thought he was rid of them. Not that he wanted to be rid of the Malfoy's; he loved them in his own way, but they were a demanding lot. His brain switched on and he knew he had to protect Draco. It was plainly obvious that if he didn't help him with this, Draco would attempt it alone and Merlin only knew what would happen.

"Sit down," Snape ordered, as he was, after all, the elder here and he wasn't going to stand for a jumped up, spoiled little brat ordering him around his own chambers, "do you want some tea?"

"Vodka," came the insolent reply.

"Tea."

"Anything with alcohol in it?"

"Tea."

"Hot Toddy?"

"Tea."

Draco pouted and threw himself into the chair, "Coffee?" he sneered caustically.

"Tea."

"Fine. Tea would be lovely… _Uncle Severus."_

Snape busied himself putting the kettle on and making the tea while Draco flicked through Daemonicus. Searching through the large roll top desk near his bed he found Lucius' journal and handed it to Draco. "Do you recognize this?"

Draco frowned, "yes, it's Dads." He put Daemonicus back on the pile and opened his Fathers book. "How did you get it?

Snape felt another surge of guilt. "The Curator of that Museum gave it to me by accident when I went to get Narcissa. I would have given it to you, but I had reason to believe that I may need it."

"Why, what happened?"

Snape quickly explained the sensations he'd experienced when drawing close to Lucius in the Museum. The feeling of that mind beating itself to dust, the rush of wings, something like the steady beat of a heart, and the scream in his head. Draco listened and stared unseeing at the pages of the book. His Fathers careful hand wrought words Draco could not read at that moment because he didn't want to read. He didn't want memories; he was sick of them. He needed to plan his future – and he needed to know if his Father was part of that future.

"At the back," Snape finished, handing Draco his tea, "there is an incantation and a recipe of sorts for a potion that may or may not have preserved his soul. Hiding it from the Dementors."

Draco coughed into his tea.

"The problem," Snape continued, "is that that I have tried the incantation and I cannot make it work. As for the Potion, it calls for things that are not part of this world. I have no idea how you Father could have possibly managed to procure them. So I have no idea if what he has written is at all possible."

"But it must be!" Draco's eyes were wide, like a small child who had just been told the ultimate bedtime story. "It has to be possible. He spoke to me, he broke that case and he spoke to me!"

Snape nodded and placed a calming hand on Draco's shoulder, forcing him to still. "Yes, " Shape conceded, "there is that." He sighed. "What Lucius has written down can't be complete. I have spent the last two months trying to work this out and I have come up with nothing. It is beyond anything I have ever seen."

Draco slumped back into the chair, disappointed. He had long held the opinion, no matter how ridiculous it was, that Snape held the answers to just about any magical conundrum. If Snape didn't know the answers then only one other person did…and Draco wasn't going to Albus Dumbledore with this. "There has to be some way," he insisted, "an antidote?"

Snape made an impatient noise in his throat, and fought back his temper. "Have I managed to teach you precisely nothing in seven years?" he asked silkily, "in order to create and antidote, you need to know what the potion is."

Draco shrugged and folded his arms, scowling. "So what can we do?"

Now there was a problem. Snape had no idea what to do. He sat down opposite Draco and watched him for a moment, speculating just how to approach this without upsetting the boy too much. "We don't even know his state of mind Draco." He watched Draco's face change, twist some how, and become pained. "He could have lost all sense of reason for all we know. We don't know what effect the Kiss has had on him."

"But…" Tears seemed to burst out of Draco like and explosion and he gulped air noisily. "He…but he spoke to me."

"I know that Draco, I do realize that. It could mean nothing at all. It could have been residual magic, a reflex of some kind, hell, it could have been wind!"

"IT WASN'T FUCKING WIND! HE SPOKE TO ME, HE SAVED ME!"

"What?" Snape scowled, "saved you from what?"

Draco swore softly and turned away. "Nothing. It was nothing."

"Did something happen? Something other than the case breaking?"

Draco swallowed, knowing full well he was walking a dangerous road if he was going to lie to Snape. If he revealed what happened, would Snape risk everything and report the Curator to the Ministry? Or would he go after the Curator? Draco had heard rumours about the state Krum had been in when he'd arrived at Azkaban. At the party, he'd heard Arthur Weasley saying that someone had taken the skin clean off him. Draco doubted Snape would do any such thing to the Curator; Draco was, after all, the son of his enemy. And Lucius was Snape's enemy – they just hadn't known it until the end.

If Snape went to the Ministry, the Curator might say something about Lucius in an attempt to get himself off, or simply out of spite. If the Ministry had an inkling that Lucius may have survived the kiss, they could well execute him – and that couldn't happen.

"It was nothing, the Curator was just a little…odd."

"Odd? How?"

"Just odd, I told you, it was nothing. Forget I mentioned it."

Of course, Severus Snape was not going to forget it. He bore down on Draco and jerked the boys pointed chin to face him. Holding him tight he looked into his eyes, ignoring the fact that the boy was trembling under his grip. Draco felt the familiar sensations as fingers delved into his mind, and he began to wonder if, between Snape and Potter, any part of his mind would be held sacred.

"Don't do that," Draco hissed, but Snape wasn't Harry. Harry would retreat guiltily as soon as he was caught, and Snape had a purpose, he knew Draco stood little chance of resisting. Legelimency was not part of the current school curriculum, something Snape would have changed if he was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. For the time being, Draco's lack of skill in this area would serve its purpose and Snape reached into Draco's mind with searching fingers. It didn't take long, the visions raced to him. Draco was making love to Harry and Harry was sobbing into his shoulder as he came, Snape felt Draco try and push him back, not wanting anyone to see that moment and Snape tried to calm him. Draco need not worry, Snape was not looking to fulfil some voyeuristic pleasure and he pushed past the intimate vision looking for something specific and he soon found it. The Curator touching Draco, speaking to him in a voice full of alluring lies, kissing him…and then the case broke.

Snape pulled back and glared at his Godson.

"Good Gods Draco! Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I…" Draco was red in the face, his eyes squinted in fury, "I didn't want to risk anything jeopardizing Dad, now just forget it!"

"Jeopardizing Lucius? What makes you think I would do any such thing?"

"Because you hate him," Draco spat.

Snape grabbed him again, as furious as Draco himself. "I never hated him. I loved him more than you could ever imagine and I would never risk him. Now drink your fucking tea and tell me about the Curator."

Draco trembled and slumped back in the chair again. He looked too pale and for a moment Snape thought he had pushed it too far. Draco picked his tea up from the pile of books beside him and took a mouthful and Snape relaxed. Draco quietly told him everything and at the end Snape curled his lip and paced the room.

"You are not to go back there."

"What? But how can I help Dad if I can't go back?"

"What exactly were you planning to do? Walk in and take him?"

 _Well, something like that._ Draco shrugged, looking disgruntled and Snape knew that was exactly what he had planned to do.

"And how did you propose to explain the sudden appearance of your Father to Potter?"

Draco cursed Snape silently for all his infernal questions, "Harry won't be a problem."

"I cannot believe that you didn't just try it." Lavender shook her head in disgust.

Hermione blushed furiously and found herself fighting to maintain her dignity as two of her friends stared at her in amused shock. "I didn't want to do it wrong."

"How can you do it wrong? Put it in your mouth and suck on it."

"And watch your teeth…" Harry was caught somewhere between amusement at Hermione's concern for being perfect at everything, and horror at the fact that they were discussing the sucking of Snape's cock. He held out his glass for Lavender to refill and decided he should think himself lucky that they weren't discussing his sex life. One glass had quickly become five and he was tipsy and relaxed…and talking about Snape's cock…he shuddered.

"There has to be more to it than that," Hermione said matter of factly, "some kind of technique. I don't want to look like I don't know what I'm doing."

"Like Snape would notice!" Harry began to laugh, "No offence 'Mione, but I doubt he's had a line up of people wanting to blow him."

"Hey!" Hermione sounded indignant. "I'll have you know, he's an excellent lover."

"Oh Gods, don't!" Harry stuck out his tongue and pretended to vomit, "I don't know how you do it, I mean, who'd have him?"

Hermione glared at him and contemplated hexing him with brewers droop for a week. Her malice was drawn away when Lavender giggled and almost spilled her drink.

"I would have loved to have tried," Lavender laughed, "any day."

"Touch him," Hermione warned drunkenly, "and I'll kill you."

Lavender laughed her pretty laugh and shoved Hermione affectionately. "Oh 'Mione, like I would go after your lover! Besides, he wouldn't have me anyway…not in a million years."

"Don't sell yourself short Lav," Harry grinned, "you're a beautiful woman."

Lavender gave Harry a grateful smile. "Actually, I think in this particular case, looks don't matter. Professor Snape thinks I'm an idiot, and Professor Snape wouldn't deem to do anything intimate with an idiot." She turned to Hermione, "Mione, he doesn't care if your technique isn't perfect, what he cares about is that it is you doing it…just try it. If he doesn't like it I have no doubt he'll tell you."

"And probably take house points from Gryffindor…"

Lavender looked at Harry and burst into hysterical laughter.

"You are both pissed!" Hermione declared, "You're no help at all!"

"Well," Harry began to recover, "firstly, you're pissed too, and second, what do you want us to help you with? You want us to tell you how to give a blow job?"

"Well, basically, yes."

Harry frowned, how the fuck were they supposed to do that? "How?"

Lavender cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "I could think of a couple of ways."

Harry followed her line of vision to his crotch and shook his head. "Sorry Lav, it doesn't work for girls."

"Aww," Lavender fluttered her eyelashes, "Well, it was worth a try."

Harry chuckled.

Ok, option B." Lavender sat back, still eyeing Harry's crotch. "Ice cream – and hot chocolate fudge."

**********************************

"Potter won't be a problem?" Snape almost laughed, over the course of his schooling life, Potter had proved to be just the opposite. "I beg to differ. Potter may have a hero complex, but saving Lucius Malfoy would most likely not fall into the realms of things he would willingly do."

"Harry won't have anything to do with it."

"Then you plan to hide it from him? Draco, as much as it pains me to say this, he isn't as stupid as he looks, he will work it out."

 _Not if I hurt him so much he doesn't care what I do_. "Not if he isn't around." Draco's face hardened and suddenly it wasn't Draco sitting in that chair, it was Lucius. Hard as a diamond, not a weakness to be found. Snape wondered if Draco could hold it for as long as his father could. "I'll end it with Harry."

"You're going to leave him?"

"Yes, it is the only thing that can be done." Draco was still, hard for a moment longer before the façade slipped and he turned his face balefully to Snape who was staring back at him. "What?" he demanded, "I thought you'd be happy about it!"

Snape raised an eyebrow, truly unable to believe what he was about to say. "Draco, you may not believe this, but my main concern is your welfare. And I consider your happiness to be part of that. Do you realize what Potter has actually risked to be with you? Did you see the paper at all over the weekend? It made the front page! Professor Dumbledore has had all mail to the both of you sent via Professor McGonagall's office due to the influx of hate mail that started coming in on Saturday – and it looks as though it is going to get worse now that you are actually back at school."

"I know, Hermione told us."

"Besides all that…" Snape shifted uncomfortably, "I would say he is in love with you." _That's it Severus, throw in some ridiculous sentimentality, that will really work – you bloody git._

"He's an inconvenience at the moment," Draco replied, returning to the hard Lucius shell he had pulled on before, "it was doomed from the beginning; you above all people should know that."

It was on the tip of Snape's tongue to suggest that Lucius was the inconvenience at that moment, but he doubted such a comment would help, in fact, it might make this end in an all out brawl. "And I think you are in love with him." _Actually, I know you're in love with him, of all people for you to fall for…stupid boy._

"I love my Father more," Draco said, forcing his voice to remain passive. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"Of course I'm going to help you," Snape said, irritation creeping back into his voice. "I can hardly refuse you, under the circumstances."

"If you don't want to help me then you can always refuse…but I think you would agree that you owe him this much."

Just when had Draco become so much like his Father? At what moment had it occurred? "Yes, I supposed I do…after a fashion."

"After a fashion? You gave him to the Ministry!"

"His choices gave him to the Ministry, I was just the instrument used to deliver him."

Draco hurled the tea across the room.

"Tut tut, Draco, you're letting your emotions show, and that's not very controlled of you. Perhaps there isn't as much of Lucius in you as I thought." That wasn't true of course. Lucius lost his temper, and often. Snape simply knew Draco considered his Father the optimum control – and it was nice to bring him down a peg or two.

"So, what do we do first?" Draco said, though his voice shook, and he managed to keep himself in check.

"Ideally we would try and find out if his mind is still intact, however, I have to admit that I do not know how to discover that. I went back to exhibition after Boxing Day, but the Curator has removed Lucius from the display. I spoke to Kingsley Shacklebolt at the party and he says that the Curator has taken Lucius to London because he was 'damaged in the attack'.

"Attack?"

"That is what he called the whole situation. And attack by persons unknown, possibly fanatics. So this Semeuse bastard is covering it up very well, probably because he is terrified that you are going to go to the authorities – which you should, by the way."

"And if he turns around and tells them who really broke the case, Dad is as good as dead."

 _Good point._ "So, as I can't access Lucius just yet, the best I can do is try to work out what it is he has done in order to preserve his soul and hope I can come up with the right answer. Then I can look at how it is possible to release it."

"And what can I do."

Snape thought for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "Actually, you can petition the Ministry to have your Father returned home. If he isn't part of the exhibition, then the Museum has no need for him."

"And what if that fails?"

"Then we wait for the exhibition to end and you petition again."

"Wait? For it to end? That is months away!"

"Draco, you can't just rush in and grab him. You must learn to keep your patience." Snape paused before adding, "and I think we should perhaps speak to Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore helped convict him," Draco spat, "why would you go to him?"

"Because he doesn't agree with the Kiss or the exhibition and he may be able to help us find a legitimate way to bring your Father back."

"No Dumbledore. Nothing can risk this."

"If we manage this and he comes back, he will have to live in hiding and if anyone ever found out they would find him and kill him."

"No Dumbledore." Draco stood and strode to the door. "You get to work here, and I'll work on a petition to the Ministry."

"And Potter?"

Draco paused, his hand on the door handle. "I'll deal with Harry when we are closer to working this out."

*********************************

Hermione was grateful that Florean Fortescue super sized bucket of ice cream was almost bottomless, she also made a mental note that Lavender kept it on the outside of the window sill. She had been craving chocolate for two days and now she really was eating far more than was her fair share. Still, it was triple chocolate hot fudge surprise and who could possibly resist that?

"Ok," Harry reached into the bucket and sought out a vein of hot chocolate fudge, "so we're drunk and full of food, now what?"

Hermione and Lavender shared a look; men obviously did not understand the chocolate ice cream experience.

"Well," Lavender swallowed noisily, "it's triple chocolate hot fudge surprise ice cream, not food, and I was getting us in the mood."

"For what?" Harry looked dubious and pulled his robes around himself a little tighter.

"Don't fret dear, we are not going to molest you." Lavender dipped her spoon into a pool of fudge and pulled it out. "In the mood for this, are you watching 'Mione?"

Hermione nodded cautiously and then gaped and giggled as Lavender swirled her tongue around the end of the spoon, lapping up the fudge with one luscious slurp. She then took the end of the spoon into her mouth and expertly sucked the remaining fudge away.

"OK, now you try it."

Hermione blushed bright red. "I…don't think…"

Harry took the spoon from her, dipped it in the fudge and held it out to her, as they both stared at her expectantly. _Oh Gods._ Hermione hesitated, more than a little embarrassed, and finally she flicked her tongue out to lap at the fudge, doing her best to imitate Lavenders fluid motion.

"Use your tongue more," Harry suggested, "you should try and keep your tongue moving all the time."

"And concentrate on the top," Lavender urged.

"Maybe suck a bit harder."

"More tongue."

"Watch your teeth."

Hermione jerked her head up in frustration. "How the fuck am I supposed to do all of that at the same time?"

"Oh good grief, it isn't hard!"

"Well I'm sorry Lavender, I'm not so experienced as you at giving head!"

"What are you trying to say? I'm a slut?"

"Well if…"

"Oh for fucks sake!" Harry wrenched the spoon angrily from Hermione's hand. "Give me your finger."

"WHAT?"

"Give me your finger!" He grabbed Hermione's hand and gently, using the very tip of his tongue, he traced a thin line of spit up the underside of her fore finger.

 _Oh my god._ Hermione felt her insides suddenly liquefy and she felt wetness rush to her groin. Harry licked her finger again, swirling a tiny circle at her finger tip and then his mouth closed over two of her fingers. It was wet and hot and his tongue seemed to swirl around her. Hermione had never thought of her hands as erogenous zones before, but the sensation was incredible. Instinct caused her to move her fingers, plunging them in and out of his mouth, mimicking the movements of a cock, and this movement ensured that her fingers were in constant contact with the tip of his tongue, the tops, then the sides and the underside in turn. He sucked gently, pulling her a little deeper into his mouth, the suction not too hard, but certainly not soft.

She gasped and ached to touch herself, for a moment it didn't seem to matter that she was in a room with Harry and Lavender and she felt her free hand flutter to her breast before she remembered herself and forced it away. Harry had closed his eyes, his lips flushed pink with arousal and Hermione cast a glance at Lavender, who was watching, no less aroused than herself, her pupils dilated, he nipples hard through the clinging satin robe she wore.

Harry drew back and Hermione almost cried out as the heat left her fingers and cool air fanned against the wet skin. Harry's eyes opened slowly, hypnotically green. He held out two fingers to her.

"Now show me what you learned."

She almost whispered 'Yes Professor' to him, but this wasn't Severus, this was Harry. This was a lesson…and that was all. She hesitated for a moment, leaned forward, and tentatively flicked her tongue out to lick the tip of Harry's finger. They were kind of sticky; no doubt as her own had been, and tasted of the chocolate fudge they'd been eating. Gently she took the fingers into her mouth.

"Ok," Harry whispered, "now move your tongue around."

She slid her tongue down the side of his fingers, taking in the texture of them, knowing a penis would be bigger, would fill her more. She swirled her tongue around Harry's finger tips and he moaned so softly she almost missed it.

 _Wow._

"Suck them," Harry whispered huskily.

Hermione allowed a glance at him, his eyes were closed again and she wondered who he was thinking about. Beside him, Lavender seemed entranced and traced her own nipple with her fingers and Hermione felt the wetness between her thighs increase. She sucked Harry's fingers and she knew it was too hard.

"Softer," he whispered and she released him a little, "that's better, good girl…"

She felt fingers brush her breast and she didn't know who's they were. Harry's or Lavender's, but at that moment she didn't rightly care. Her robes were being unbuttoned, gently pulled aside and one pert breast exposed, she felt Lavenders mouth on her nipple, softer than Severus, a more feminine touch. She moaned. Agile fingers slivered up her leg and she parted them slightly, allowing Lavender access to the wetness there. They were moving now, moving to lie down, Harry never removing his fingers from her mouth, but moving with them, helping Lavender open Hermione's robes, exposing her to them both. The fingers returned to delve into the wetness between her thighs, sliding under the elastic of her panties and stroking her swollen clitoris.

 _Oh Gods, I really shouldn't be doing this._

She sucked Harry's fingers deeper into her throat, aching for it to be something more substantial, wishing to the gods that it was Severus' cock…but she also knew at that moment she'd take Harry's if he would give it to her. She wondered how it was that lust and passion and desire could override all rational thought. But it wasn't even that. They were, all three of them, simply aroused and willing. There was nothing more to it, and the very baseness of the sensation amazed her.

Lavender pulled her satin robe over her head, revealing her perfect full breasts and Harry's fingers were soon removed and replaced with a hard, pinkish brown nipple.

They both reached for Harry at the same moment. It was an absent reaching of hands that found their mark and pulled him to them by his clothes. Hermione's hand brushed over his hard cock and her inner self raised an eyebrow and muttered; _doesn't work for girls huh?_ Just how they got his robes off with out breaking contact with each other, the girls would never know, but they were suddenly overwhelmed with the masculine scent of aftershave and clean sweat.

"What the fuck are you three doing?"

Everything seemed to stop as Draco cocked a questioning eyebrow and closed the door behind him.

*********************************

"This is Edrisil," Semeuse held up a phial to Lucius and smiled, "do you know what Edrisil is?"

Lucius did know what Edrisil was, but did not answer. He sat propped up against the bed head, long hair drying after their evening swim, the salt water on his skin making him smell as though he had just stepped from some clean ocean. Semeuse leaned into his Angels throat and inhaled the scent from the warm skin.

"Edrisil is a marvellous substance. It creates a sort of portal between places." He had three phials. The largest phial contained the carrier and it was the one he would keep with him when he returned to the travelling exhibition. The second would be left with Lucius so that Semeuse could simply pour the carrier into the Edrisil bowl and gaze upon his lover whenever he so desired it. The third phial was to go to Hogwarts.

"I have decided that the best course of action to get your son is to watch him for a while. As you can imagine, Hogwarts is not the easiest of places to take someone from, and so I've decided that I need to watch him, and firmly establish his movements. Where he goes, who he sees, what he eats, if he sleeps…and with whom he sleeps."

Semeuse smiled a thin smile and lovingly traced a long tendril of damp hair over his Angels shoulder.

"It's a boy, did you know that? Your son's lover is a boy. I saw it in his mind." Semeuse gently licked Lucius' throat, enjoying the taste of salt and flesh. "Does it shock you? Would you be accepting of such a relationship, or is he going against you. As they say, 'when the cats away…'" Another seed of thought entered Semeuse's mind, one that caused him to harden slightly and a smile played at his lips. "Or perhaps you taught him yourself, perhaps you unlocked the secrets of such desires for him?" He could see it in his minds eye, two pale Angels entwined around each other, licking, stroking, and probing pleasure points. How beautiful it would be, the ultimate gift of a Father to a Son. He caressed Lucius' face, gently sucking his lower lip. He would see them together, and he would have them entwined together always.

"Of course, I will have to get rid of the other boy. It seems a shame, as he looked a pretty young thing – from what I saw of him. But he is little more than a child and I'm sure he will offer little in way of resistance. You will have your Draco soon enough my Angel, and the other will prove to be no trouble, especially to a powerful Wizard such as myself."

Was he imagining things, or did the shadow of a smile just cross he Angel's lips.

*********************************

NOTES:

Many thanks to the X-files for Lucius' journal entry _Ragnarok_


	29. Edge of Reason

_Disclaimer: See prologue_

 **Chapter 13**

 **Edge of Reason**

******************

 _"31st October 1981_

 _The Dark Lord has a new obsession, a Muggle visionary, and I have been tasked with finding her and unlocking her secrets. I have followed her, walked in her shadow, felt the conflict within her waif-like frame and if one could pity a Muggle, I would pity her. I submit that whilst no family can be wholly free from strife, there are some who manage to maintain an even, unthreatening unity that somehow allows its young to grow up without the manifold disruptions of even the mildest shock._

 _I can only vow that I will never allow this to happen to Draco. Such an upbringing, such a vile mistake, leaves the child wholly unprepared for the onset of puberty, let alone what else is to follow._

 _Miss Regina Vermoral had such an upbringing as this. Sheltered and safe. As though she had been wrapped in a protective layer of cotton wool. And when the visions started at the age of twelve, her parents thought her mad. At first the visions were little more than nebulous flickerings, something that she couldn't explain, but certainly nothing for her family to worry about. A problem with her eyesight perhaps and she was dragged to specialist after specialist who could find nothing wrong with her eyes. But the visions became more profound; they were destined to. They soon became a bright reality that pushed the solid universe into soft focus. Regina Vermoral began to walk within a swirling mist of celestials. She was able, as so many of our kind wished they could but never managed, to walk between two worlds. One, her feeble Muggle normality, the other, a celestial plain where she bore witness to titanic heavenly battles._

 _Muggles have lost their gods within the pages of their own dogma; they treat the divine ones amongst them like vermin. I found Regina living in a rat infested hole that they pleasantly refer to as an 'institution.' They have put things to her head because of all the happenings she has told them, they have tried to drive the visions out and when I found her, they were about to remove the part of her brain they believe to be responsible for her ramblings._

 _She looked on me as quite the savior._

 _How ironic._

 _Given the choice of being mutilated or going with a man who came out of thin air and told her he believed her, she took the obvious. I believe that she thought me one of her celestials, something I am still chuckling about. I explained to her that the celestial war that she was viewing was not a battle of good versus evil, as Muggle misconception would have it, but a war between two sides equally matched in both honour and malice. What she saw was no conflict of right versus wrong, but a territorial dispute emanating from basic unresolved internal conflict._

 _She did not believe me; Muggles have such a difficult time understanding that Celestial beings can be as petty and fierce as their human counterparts. Such a reservation did not stop her from packing her bag however. She owned little by way of clothing, but it is not her clothing that was of interest to me. What I want, and what the Dark Lord craves is what she discovered when she realized that she was powerless to stop the sights of deranged Angels and bloody demons from surrounding her. When she knew that she would never be free of it, she stopped being afraid and began to look around. She wanted to know more, to prove that this was no simple insanity. When the other world presented itself, she explored it, stepping over bodies, climbing through the marshes, and then she discovered that she could pick things up – and take them home._

 _Two hundred little bottles and tiny scraps of silk folded to create envelopes, and inside, the most precious of all things. Blood and oil, flesh and feathers, arrowheads, slivers of shields, fragments of armour, or of bone. These things are not of this world and yet this girl is able to bring them here, able to lay out before me what has not been seen since the dawn of our time. I requested that she bring it all of course, the bottles, the Angel essence, the journals full of what her captors considered gibberish but which I recognize as the language of the ancients._

 _And she is here now, in my home, awaiting my Master's call._

 _Later…_

 _Something has happened which I could never have predicted. He is gone. The Dark Lord has vanished, I cannot feel him, and the Dark Mark has faded as though it were never there. It was a child who did it. A baby with no extraordinary talent. I saw him, held him even, and he did nothing to me. But to the Dark Lord he was deadly._

 _And now I am left with this girl, a Muggle girl with a wealth of precious things and whilst I am sure her virginity will prove an amusing thing to take, I do not know what else to do with her. Her possessions are now mine, but what of her person? With the Dark Lord gone it may be unwise to simply kill her, and somewhere, deep in my bones, I feel that I will have need of her one day, and I have never taken such feelings lightly…"_

Snape frowned and picked up his quill, with carefully measured strokes he wrote "Regina Vermoral?" on a piece of parchment.

~

Hermione's eyes widened and her head suddenly cleared. _What in hell was she doing?_ She turned her terrified brown eyes to Draco, who seemed to have everyone's attention at that moment, standing as he was in the doorway looking strangely as though he was caught between being highly amused and being extremely pissed off. She suddenly felt extremely exposed, cold and… _oh my god, Severus is going to kill me._

She struggled out from under Lavender, pulling her robes closed as she went and giving a small scream of horror at what she had just allowed herself to do.

Lavender rolled onto her back, stared at the roof for a few seconds before sitting up, stretching languidly and retrieving her robes.

"Are you going to join us dear?" she asked Draco with a good deal more nonchalance than she actually felt.

Draco seemed to consider the offer for a moment, moved in behind Harry and wrapped two possessive arms around him and forced a tight smile. "Not tonight darlin', another time perhaps?"

"Sure, whenever. You want a drink?"

"Love one."

Lavender wrapped her robes securely around herself and retrieved a glass from the dresser. She knew how to handle the situation, just as she knew how to handle Draco. Give him a drink and calm Hermione down. Unfortunately, calming Hermione down was not going to be as easy as pouring a glass of champagne. She handed the glass to Draco and moved to help Hermione find her shoes…her roommate's intention was obvious.

While the girls rummaged around the floor, Draco leaned in to whisper harshly in Harry's ear.

"You drunk baby?"

Harry nodded dumbly, he felt the first sting of tears and Draco hissed; "If I catch you doing this again, I'll fucking kill you."

Harry nodded again and felt a hot tear streak down his cheek.

"Shhh, don't do this now." Draco turned his attention back to the girls who were having an argument of sorts. To Draco's bewilderment, Hermione was preparing to go and confess her near infidelity to her lover.

"Don't tell him!" Draco stared at Hermione, incredulous, "he really doesn't need to know."

"What!" Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. How many times had her parents ranted on about relationships built on trust? Now she was supposed to lie to Severus? On top of everything that had just happened? "I have to tell him!"

"No you don't," Lavender urged, glad to have Draco on her side, "trust me, you really don't want to tell him about this. He won't find out, so he doesn't need to know."

"But what if he does find out?"

"He won't…not unless you tell him."

Hermione glared at Draco and wondered how Harry could possibly trust him if he was so ready to tell such a lie. Then she noticed the way his hands were clutching Harry so hard that his fingernails were digging into flesh and she realized with some amazement that he was far more upset about it than he was letting on.

Harry was almost cleaving to Draco's body, his face a mask of shame. He wasn't looking at anyone, wasn't speaking and Hermione could see the wet streak of tears on his face. But Draco still had his arms around him, still loved him, and wasn't letting him go.

"I can't lie to him, I have to tell him."

Lavender was shaking her head, she looked uncomfortable and a little guilty, "'Mione, you'll only hurt him…and yourself. It is such a small thing; don't ruin what you have over it."

"If it is such a small thing, why shouldn't I tell him?"

"Because he's…" Lavender paused and frowned. She was about to say, _'because he's a grown up,'_ which was utterly ridiculous; they weren't twelve anymore…something they had just proved admirably. _Because he's Snape?_ She had to admit that she had no idea what he would do if he found out. She had only known him as a Professor of the school; not as a person. She simply didn't know him. Draco, on the other hand she knew well. Draco's reaction proved to her that he loved Harry, but she knew he wouldn't make a scene, that he wouldn't get angry – not here at least. She should know, she lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy when she was sixteen. She knew his attitude to sex well enough, and some of her own beliefs had been inspired by his. What she did know was that Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were well and truly two different people.

"If you tell him," Lavender said slowly, "and he reacts badly, don't go wandering around the castle all night. Come back, you'll need your friends around you."

Hermione tried to smile and gave Lavender a little hug. With the air of one heading for the executioners block, she headed for the Dungeons.

*****

Angelina often considered that her memory was not her greatest friend. Sometimes it played tricks on her, occasionally it failed her completely, and then, there were days like today, when her memory was so clear she found herself mouthing the words silently to a conversation she'd once had, long ago.

He'd said; "You don't understand, we can't keep doing this!"

And she had replied; "But I love you."

It was Charlie, wasn't it? Yes, she was sure it was Charlie, she could hear his voice and she would recognize it anywhere. And then he came to her; the full vision was there in her head, as though the orb of her mind had turned and delivered him to her, whole and alive.

But she could not guide this conversation; this was little more than a memory and she was little more than a spectator to her own past self, throwing her body in a sobbing heap at his feet.

My how she was weak back then.

"I love you," she cried, "please, don't do this, I love you."

Charlie had looked unmoved, as though she was dirt on his boot. "Angelina, that doesn't matter, can't you see?"

"How could it not matter? How could you say that? You brought me here! You made it matter! You made me love you!"

Charlie walked away from her and she liked to think that he looked stricken. He must have because she had known that it wasn't his fault. "I don't mean it that way," he said, "don't twist this to suit your own ends."

"I'm not _twisting_ anything! You brought me here. You told me that we were meant to be together, it was you!" She was on the floor, like a dog, looking up at him, pleading, "How can you just stand there and tell me it's over? Why now?"

"You're George's wife! What do you expect me to do?"

"But I was George's wife yesterday, and the day before that, and the day you first kissed me! Why does it matter now?"

"Because it does!"

"It's your mother isn't it?" Angelina knew it had to be. It had to be Molly. The woman hated her. "She found out about us, and she's forcing you to leave me!"

Charlie pulled his robes roughly out of her grasp and walked away from her. "Trust me, if my mother knew about us, I wouldn't be standing here now."

She looked desperately around the room, the same room they had met in every week for a year. She hoped desperately to find some clue, or some inkling as to why he was doing this to her. "You're lying. I know you are. She has said something, hasn't she! What has she said?"

"Nothing! Mum doesn't know anything about us!"

"Then why? You love me, I know you love me!"

"GEORGE IS MY BROTHER!"

He stopped himself and drew breath the same way that all the Weasley boys did when they needed to calm themselves down, and then turned back to her, perhaps ashamed for having yelled. She couldn't tell.

"Please…" her voice cracked, she was crawling on the floor, dragging herself to him, clutching at the dusty hem of his robes. "Please don't do this. Charlie, don't do this. I love you. You're all I have and I need you."

"You have George," Charlie answered. "You have your husband."

But her husband was cold comfort, little more than a boy when what she wanted was a man. "Is there someone else?" She barely dared to ask the question; and he was shaking his head.

"No, of course not. I just can't do this any more. The war is coming, and I can't be torn in two, with you on one side and my family on the other."

"But if we we're together," she said, excited, with false hope shining for brief moment in her eyes, "If we're together we can face them. You said that once, you said we could face anything together."

"But I don't want to face them. I don't want to be against them. They are my family. They are everything to me."

"And what am I?" she asked, defeated, "nothing at all?"

He was silent and he turned his face away from her. Nothing at all, some vile thing crawling on the floor. He had taken her, used her and discarded her when his own guilt became too great.

"You can't leave me," she said bitterly, with an edge of menace, "I won't let you leave me."

He was walking towards the door, not looking back at her, not caring what he had done.

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed, "I HATE ALL OF YOU. I'LL MAKE YOU PAY, I SWEAR I WILL!"

He stopped and turned back, staring at her hopeful face. "Don't Ange. Go home to George and stop hurting the family. Don't say things you'll regret later."

She bowed her head and cried, rocking back and forth on the floor, pooled in dusty sunlight. He had brought her here to 'their' sanctuary, and he had made love to her. He had forced the infidelity and she was made to pay the price for his guilt. She hated them all. Hated the way they could close ranks, hated the way Molly ruled her sons and forced them to comply with her wishes, and how she forced them to choose family over happiness.

She hated that family. All of them. And they would pay for their blinkered solidarity.

******

Snape had just finished preparing himself for bed when Hermione came bursting through the door to his chambers. He had finally put the journal away, certain that he was not going to find anything else on Regina Vermoral that night. He was looking forward to sleep. For the first time in years he honestly felt he would have no problem actually nodding off. He was exhausted, Hermione had been using his body like a trampoline for almost a week and he was certain that if he didn't lie down and sleep soon, he wasn't going to get through the next semester.

Hermione soon put paid to that idea by storming into the room and almost screaming, "Severus!" at him.

Snape took a step back and frowned at the sudden intrusion, he then found himself uncomfortably aware that he had on his…less than best nightshirt, and that she was looking wild eyed and dishevelled and, well, aroused. "Hermione! Are you insane? Anyone could have seen you!"

"I…" Hermione looked frantically to the door and back to him, and looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment. "I'vedonesomethingreallystupidandyou'regonnahateme…"

 _What in Merlin's name did she just say?_ "I do not have the pleasure of understanding you; you are going to have to slow down."

Her lip started to tremble and he almost groaned as the tears came and spilled down her face. _Was her period still due? Dear Gods, had it arrived and she's come to tell him about it?_

"What's wrong?" He asked, as gently as he could muster under the circumstances, and then another thought came. "Has someone hurt you?" _What if they have…what if someone has hurt her? I'll kill the mother-fucking sons of bitches…_

"I…" Hermione began to sob in earnest now, taking in great gulps of air and for a moment Snape thought he was going to have to go and find whoever had touched her and dispose of them quietly, when she began to stammer out a hesitant reply. "I-I h-ha-have d-d-done something r-really s-s-tupid. Y-you are gonna h-h-h-hate m…"

The end was lost in a fresh hail of tears.

 _Something stupid? How stupid?_ "Well, calm down," he snapped, trying to remain calm himself, "and tell me what you have done."

 _He's going to hate me, oh Gods he's going to leave me._ She looked at him, standing next to his chair by the fire. She could already feel the loss of losing him. Draco's voice came back, urging her not to tell him and for a moment she contemplated lying. He would know though, he could always tell when she was lying.

"You might want to sit down." She whispered.

Snape raised an eyebrow, so it was bad enough to sit down for. _Oh my God, she's pregnant. Her period didn't come and I'm about to be the father of some dunderheaded brat!_ He nervously sank into his chair and looked at her suspiciously, allowing his face to settle into the mask he used when addressing first years. He watched as she shuffled nervously, unsure of how to break it to him, and then finally she drew breath and began to speak.

Snape listened, his face never changing as she told him the whole sordid tale. She told him everything, from start to finish, without embellishment. All about Harry's lesson and her reaction to it, about Lavender and kissing her. When she finished she bowed her head, to ashamed to even cry any more. She studied the tops of her shoes and waited for him to speak.

He remained silent for a long time, trying to decide exactly how he felt about it. One part of his brain was off dancing a jig because she wasn't pregnant and he had to wait for that to return before he could make a reasonable assessment of damage. He certainly wasn't happy with the events, but then she certainly wasn't the first person to ever get drunk with her friends and end up rolling around on a bed with them. He seemed to recall on dark and stormy night, several bottles of very good whiskey, with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and a very interesting morning spent trying to explain to a two year old and his teddy bear why there were three people in mummy and daddy's bed.

Thank the Gods Draco didn't remember that.

Then there was how he and Hermione had discovered each other in the first place. He could still taste the absinthe when he thought back.

Now she had got herself drunk and decided to learn something he would have been only too willing to teach her. On Potters fingers – of all things! Silly little girl.

And Lavender Brown too…he would have given his left ball to have seen that.

Snape began to smirk. Hermione was looking apprehensive and she was wringing her hands, expecting the worst. He was still big bad Snape in her eyes, and he probably would be for a long time. He _obviously_ would have no experience with such things in his own past. The smirk became more like a grin and he tried not to laugh at her.

"Well," he said at last, deciding he really should put her out of her misery, "when are you going to show me what you learned?"

"Do you want me to show you now?"

Snape grinned and considered it. "Actually, I think we might save it for a moment when I will really appreciate it. I'm tired, I need to get some sleep."

Hermione looked uncertain for a moment, had he not really forgiven her; he wanted her to go? "Do you…do you want me to leave?"

He smiled, pushed himself up out of the chair and took her hand on his way to the bed, "No, you can stay."

She grinned.

"But just to sleep…only sleep."

The grin faltered.

He turned the bedclothes down and turned to her, gently he began to unbutton the robes he had purchased for her, slowly revealing her naked form beneath. As the robes fell to the floor and he lifted her face to his, he felt himself harden and suddenly all thoughts of sleep were running off into the distance.

But he really needed sleep.

She smelled musky and he knew that if he reached between her legs he would find wetness there. He could only be glad that Draco had walked in on her before she had gone to far, the idea of someone else bringing her to orgasm was like a torture to him.

"I'm so sorry," She whispered, "what must you think of me?"

"I was young once you know, I can remember what it was like."

She stroked his jaw and standing on her toes she flicked her tongue along the side of his throat. "Why Severus, are you telling me you had a wild youth?"

"I was a Death Eater sweetheart, 'wild' doesn't quite cover it."

She tensed a little at the comment, but relaxed back into him, splaying her hand over his chest and feeling his heart beat there. "Did you ever do anything like that?"

"With my friends?"

"Yes." She smiled shyly, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer; not sure she wanted to know that he had a life before her. But of course he had to, he was twenty years her senior and she knew he had been with people before she came along.

"A long time ago. Things were different then." He slipped between the sheets, "Come to bed."

He pulled her under the covers and brought her close, kissing her again, loving the feel of her body in his arms. He gently slid his hand down her body and delved his fingers into the wetness he knew he would find between her legs.

He spread her open, gently parting the lips of her vagina and sliding a finger deep into her, and then he coated his fingers in her wetness and lazily circled her clit. She sighed and smiled and then seemed to melt bonelessly into the bed. He knew precisely how to touch her, how hard to rub or how gentle to be and when her ragged breathing betrayed the onset of her orgasm he slowed down, letting the feeling subside, so that he could build her up again.

"I…I want it…" she ground her pubis against his fingers, "I want it…now!"

He chuckled, evil bastard, and secretly marvelled at just how wet she could become. "Shh, it's coming, I promise."

He circled her clit again and her hips bucked up into his hand and she cried out, unable to stop the orgasm from washing over her. When she finally calmed and her body relaxed, Hermione rolled her face to him and smiled. His eyes were already closing and she quietly whispered "Nox," deciding he really needed to sleep.

Morning came all to soon and with it, the day Harry had been dreading. Facing the school. Facing everyone and knowing that he would be on display, as he always had been, but this would be a thousand times worse. Today he would not be the hero. Today he would be some pervert who was shagging his arch-enemy, someone to gossip over, and someone to pass judgment on.

The day didn't start well. Draco was still none too happy about the previous night, although his mood had improved since they'd gone to bed and he was now speaking to Harry in words of more than one syllable. He had also made love to Harry gently, taking him from behind in the early hours as they had been spooning and thus raising Harry's hopes that he really wasn't all that angry. Just as Harry had considered that maybe his day would not be too bad, Ron had made a fuss over Harry's showering with everybody else. Something Harry couldn't comprehend because he had showered with them for years and his "perverted tendencies" had never caused him to do anything odd or obscene to his friends. More than a few people seemed to be egging Ron on however, or remaining ominously silent and so Harry had waited patiently for them to finish before showering quickly and returning to his room to dress for breakfast.

Draco decided that he wasn't going "down there" to be ridiculed. He rarely ate breakfast as it was, and he liked the quiet of the morning to have his bath without intrusion. Harry wished he had thought of that, but he could only imagine what would happen if Ron found out they had bathed together…he would probably demand the disinfection of the tub.

So Harry was left to go to breakfast alone. Not a task he relished, but his courage always rose to a challenge, and if he wasn't ashamed of his relationship, he was hardly going to hide from the world because of it.

Such a thought did not bring him comfort when he stepped into the Great Hall and it fell silent. There was nothing, not even the quietest of whispers and he felt his face begin to burn as he walked between the rows of tables – and the whispering started in his wake. He kept walking, forcing his head high and focusing on a point just above Dumbledore's head. He could never remember a moment when the Great Hall had seemed so very long and he hoped he didn't do something stupid, like falling flat on his face on the stone floor.

As he drew closer to the table he noticed that Ron had surrounded himself with Anthony Goldstein and Seamus – like Harry was going to try and sit next to him.

"Saved you a seat gorgeous."

He felt his face split into a relieved grin as Lavender waved him over, indicating a spot between Hermione and herself.

"Where's Draco?" Hermione asked as he sat down and he felt another weight lift from his shoulders. Hermione was still talking to him, and she appeared to be in a good mood – which meant that things with Snape had not been a total disaster.

"He's having a bath…" Harry replied and tried to sound as though it was no big deal that his lover had left him to cope with this alone.

"Is he still in a shit about what happened?"

"Sort of…he's getting over it." Harry smiled nervously, "um, how are you?"

"Good," Hermione positively beamed at him, "never better"

She can't have told him, there was just no way she could have. "So you didn't tell Snape then."

Lavender scoffed into her tea.

"What?" Harry was genuinely confused. Hermione had taken on a trancelike quality and Lavender looked thoroughly amused.

"Well" Lavender said with a small hint of amazement is her voice, "it appears we didn't give the good Professor enough credit."

"He was alright with it?" Harry cast an incredulous glance at Snape who was chatting to McGonagall and, wonders would never cease, actually smiling. He must've said something terribly funny because McGonagall looked over at the three of them and burst into hysterical laughter.

"Is he telling her?" Harry asked with rising dismay.

"Probably," Hermione sounded resigned to the fact, "he tells her just about everything."

"You're kidding"

"Nope."

McGonagall was laughing so hard now that Dumbledore had to nudge her – and she spent the rest of breakfast with a smirk she could not quite lose.

"Well, I'm glad they find it amusing." Harry was a little disconcerted. How was it possible that Severus Snape had reacted so well, when Draco had reacted so very badly? It just didn't seem right.

************

 _"Dear Ronnie_

 _By now you should have received George's letter telling you that I am coming to Hogsmeade to do the books for Zonko's. Aren't you pleased? You should be because I had to take a considerable amount of time off from work, just to come and see you. I get there on Saturday 16th, so don't make any plans for that night because I have booked a room at the Three Broomsticks and I know you'll love what I have for you._

 _Remember, Saturday 16th at six, you know how I hate to be kept waiting and I really don't want to have to go home and tell George all about how mean you were to me during my visit._

 _Adoringly yours_

 _Angelina."_

*************

Classes progressed in a familiar way that disturbed Hermione, though she had never thought it possible. She was not sure what she had expected. That Severus would be different, would call on her in class perhaps, or allow her to answer a question, even dote on her brilliance? He was far too cautious for that, and so he treated her as he had always treated her, with contempt bordering on disdain. Even though Hermione knew it to be an act, she could not help but feel alarmed by it. She had been confined to her own bed since their first night back, his excuse being that he needed sleep and that he did not want her traipsing around the dungeons at night where anyone could see her. True, he had managed to steal some time and they'd had dinner in his room, but nothing more had happened. Her body was feeling bereft and as she sat through her ninth Potions class since arriving back at school, she couldn't help but watch the way he moved about the room; her body in a heightened state of arousal, and wonder if she could just hurl him into his office and have him on his desk.

The idea was ludicrous of course, but she had to have him at some point, the frustration was almost painful.

He seemed to be coping admirably and she thought with some dismay that he probably didn't miss her at all.

"Miss Granger, what exactly do you think you are doing?"

She looked up at him, and then down at her work and grimaced. She had just managed to put so much powdered Unicorn hoof into her amnesia draught that it had taken on the look and consistency of setting tar.

"I-I'm sorry – Professor, I wasn't concentrating on what I was doing."

"Evidently."

 _Get me to stay after class! Give me detention!_

"In future Miss Granger, please refrain from wasting our resources or you may find yourself hunting it down yourself."

"Yes Professor." _Bastard._

She left Potions at the sound of the bell, resisting the urgent need inside her to turn back and try and communicate some desperate signal of desire to him. Harry grabbed her arm and dragged her along. Defence against the Dark Arts was next, and everyone was excited because they had been promised their first lesson of Defence with a Staff.

Not that Hermione was particularly interested in Stave's. She had seen the damage they could do, and she really didn't want to touch one. Duelling she considered an essential in the art of self defence. Using a Staff was just plain barbarism.

Still, it would be interesting to watch a demonstration.

Professor Delancet had set up a long platform to be used for the duelling lesson. She knew the damage a Staff could do and she didn't particularly want one out amongst the class. With a platform she could set up wards around its edges so that any stray shots would dissolve harmlessly into vapour and no one would get hurt. When the class arrived, all eager to see what she had set up, she was standing in the middle of the platform waiting for them.

"Alright then, gather round," she beckoned the class forward, "gather round."

It was by far the biggest class in the school, the entire of seventh year had taken it, and adding the thirty three eighth years, it was more than triple the size of other classes. She was glad that most of the lessons were practical affairs because she knew full well how hard it was to seat the lot of them in one place.

"Now, as I promised, today we are going to be looking at Staves and finding out who would like to learn how to use them and who is actually skilled enough to learn how to use them." She swept her gaze over the crowd and rested on Harry for a moment until she saw him start to blush and shift uncomfortably on the spot.

"Professor Snape has been so good as to agree to assist me with the demonstration, so if you could just make way down there and let him through, I would be most grateful."

The crowd parted as people backed quickly away from the Potions Master and sickening memories of Gilderoy Lockhart's first, and only, duelling demonstration came flooding back. Snape looked his usual foul tempered self, his arms folded and a scowl firmly in place. He obviously took Sabine Delancet with a touch more seriousness than he did Gilderoy Lockhart however, because he had dispensed with robes and wore a plain black shirt and pants.

Those who had been in Lockhart's class that day shuddered, they liked Professor Delancet and they hoped she wasn't about to be humiliated. They also knew she was no Lockhart, and most hoped she would kick Snape's arse.

"I'll bet 100 Galleons on Snape to kick her arse," Draco said, not taking his eyes from the platform.

"I'll take that bet," It was Colin Creevy, "I reckon she can beat him."

"You're on."

Within seconds a book was being set up with students' surreptitiously shoving gold in Colin's direction and he was glad he had an auto-quill to write down names and amounts.

Hermione looked around her friends as though they were vultures. Harry had just bet sixty galleons into the pool and a blow job to Draco, that Delancet would win. "What if she hurts him?" she whispered harshly.

"God I'd love to see that."

She glared at Harry who winced apologetically and turned back to the platform.

Delancet threw Snape a large crystal ball which he caught easily. He held it out in front of him and it began to emit light, growing brighter until its edges began to blur and it lengthened and changed, growing until it became a Staff as tall as Snape himself. The crystal ball sat snugly in top of the Staff, whilst the other end held a pointed crystal conductor.

"Now, Professor," Delancet smiled tightly, "disarm only – I'm not interested in losing a limb today."

"As you wish," Snape replied silkily and shifted the Staff under his arm in a manner that those who had been through the final battle of the war recognized as a Death Eater position.

Professor Delancet eyed his stance and shifted uncomfortably; she slowly and deliberately gripped her Staff in both hands, pointedly unwilling to adopt a similar position, and levelled the Staff at her opponent.

There were no niceties involved, no polite bowing, no elaborate incantations. The ideology was simple, point and shoot. The power behind the bolts of energy was entirely dependent on the will of the one holding the weapon. The stronger the Wizard, the greater the charge. The trick was in learning how to dodge the bolts, and this was no easy task. While a wand was an elegant thing, able to pinpoint areas of the body with extreme accuracy, a Staff would simply dismember the whole body in one blow.

"Alright then," Delancet said clearly, "1-2-3…"

They both fired at the same time - and stone floor rumbled as the bolts collided.

Delancet got off the next round faster and Snape, showing an agility no one would have thought possible, flipped backwards over it, firing as he went. The bolt caught her square in the chest and knocked her to the floor.

Harry cursed silently and wondered if it was too late to change his bet, and behind him came the sound of money changing hands.

She wasn't down long, as she used the momentum to roll backwards and regain her feet. Delancet fired and caught Snape on the hip.

Hermione yelped and Harry grinned as Hermione was caught between covering her eyes and watching in horror.

"She's hurting him!"

"I think he can hold his own 'Mione."

And indeed he could. Snape planted the conductor into the platform, using the Staff to save him from his fall and then vaulted around it, landing on his feet and swinging the Staff over his shoulder in one fluid movement, the resulting bolt of energy caught Delancet in the face. She fired back before she even noticed the pain, succeeding in knocking him down this time and he flipped back onto his feet and stood poised, ready to fire.

Harry quickly searched through his pockets for another few Galleons to add to his bet. Delancet and Snape circled each other cautiously, like two predatory animals. They were both grinning and Harry realized with a small shock that they were both enjoying this.

If anything would ever reconcile him to Snape that would. He liked a good fight.

"More?" Delancet challenged.

Snape responded by flipping the Staff and pointing the conductor at her. His mouth slid easily into a wry smile. "Care to make it interesting?"

Delancet grinned in return. "I don't think your girlfriend would be too happy if she had to put you back together Severus."

Snape arched an eyebrow and shot a look at Hermione and gave a barely perceivable wink. "Oh I don't know, she's very clever, I'm sure she'll manage."

A second book had been started, 'Guess the name of the foolish woman who was sleeping with Snape' and Draco was silently lamenting that he wouldn't be able to bet on it.

"Gods, she'd have to be desperate," Ginny giggled, "who'd have him?"

"I bet it's McGonagall, it has to be McGonagall."

"Or Sprout!"

A giggle rushed through the crowd and Harry cast a concerned look at Hermione whose teeth he could hear grinding over the buzz of students.

Delancet was laughing heartily and flipped the Staff over. She didn't wait before she shot a red bolt of light at him, which he dodged admirably and returned fire, tearing a gash across her shoulder.

"Oh you bastard!" Her voice was shocked and with laughing alarm, she ran at him, fired at close quarters and tore a chunk out of his thigh. He responded by rolling the Staff in an arch over his shoulder and cracking her on the head with it.

And she went down.

"Oh my God," Draco drawled, "he knocked her out with it." He turned to Colin. "Pay up Creevy."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh with relief or cry out at the dirty tactics. Either way she was torn. She looked with concern as Snape knelt beside Professor Delancet and pulled out his wand. He murmured "Enervate" and her eyes shot open.

"Fuck that hurt!" Delancet groaned and sat up, forgetting for a moment that she was teaching a class. "You miserable shit!"

A ripple of laughter ran through the class and they waited with baited breath to see if he snapped at her. He didn't. Instead he helped her to her feet, muttered that he had a good headache potion that he would get for her later, and inspected the damage to his leg. She stood, stretched, and winced at the pain in her shoulder.

"Alright then." She addressed the class, "Now you have seen how it's done. There are no niceties involved, no rules. The aim of this sort of fighting is to get your opponent down by any means necessary. The Staves are powerful and as you saw, can be used in ways that don't necessarily involve magic. That is why they were the weapons of choice for the Death Eaters. Those of you who would like to try it may step forward. I warn you, I will only chose the most skilled amongst you to try it."

A group of people moved forward, most held back. Hermione turned and moved to the back of the room, trying to get her heart to slow down and not race to Severus and inspect the raw wound on his leg.

"Potter, Malfoy, you're up."

She stopped and turned back as Harry and Draco climbed up onto the platform and wondered if Delancet had taken some kind of perverse pleasure in pitting them against each other. The crowd was whispering again, speculating on just how this fight would go, many actually seeing Harry and Draco facing each other for the first time since their relationship became common knowledge.

Snape handed Draco the Staff and scowled. "You shouldn't be doing this and you know it."

"I'll be fine, besides, it's disarm only."

"Disarm with one of these things could actually take your arms off."

"Calm down! Gods, now you do sound like my father."

"Your body can't take this kind of jolt."

"Then I will get out of the way."

Snape glared at him and Draco returned his glare defiantly. "Does Potter know?"

"Know what? This is nothing, I'll be fine." Draco took the Staff in both hands and turned to Harry - and paled.

Harry was standing in a perfect replica of Snape's Death Eater stance, Staff tucked under his arm and a huge grin on his face.

"He knows how to use this already doesn't he?"

"Oh yes," Snape said casually. "He blew the hell out of an entire row of Death Eaters I seem to recall."

Draco swallowed. _Fuck._

"Disarm only please," Delancet said loudly and Draco sighed as Harry blasted him backwards off his feet.

************

Please go to part 2


	30. Edge of Reason Part 2

Chapter 13 - Part 2

************

Snape left the Defence class shortly after he was certain Draco had suffered no real damage and Potter had been given some other poor sap to blast away at. He didn't notice that Hermione followed him at first, and by the time he did realize, he was enjoying the feel of her shadowing him and he lead her silently through the school, along dark corridors and up disused stair cases until he reached the third floor and a dusty room that had once housed a three headed dog named Fluffy.

He swung around, searching the darkness until he found her and smiled and said, "You can come out now."

She stepped from the shadows. "Why did you come up here?" she asked, but her heart was thumping in her chest and she felt the first tendrils of arousal reach through her.

"I could ask you the same thing," he returned silkily.

"I was following you."

"I knew you were following me." He came closer and her stomach tied itself into a knot.

"Did you miss me," she stammered, "the last two weeks, did you miss me?"

He smiled a dark smile. "Very much. I've had to stroke myself each morning and think about what you would feel like if I was inside you."

She felt her panties suddenly become saturated and she had to fight the urge to tear his shirt off his body. "Does your leg hurt?" she whispered, not thinking about his leg, but wondering when she was going to have his cock inside her.

"No, not at all." He moved closer still and stroked her face with the back of his hand, "were you worried?"

"No," she lied, while every sense, and each tiny nerve ending suddenly came alive under his touch. She had almost forgotten how tall he was; the top of her head only just reached the pit of his throat and when he pulled her to him, her breasts crushed hard against him and she felt his hard cock press into the soft swell of her belly.

One arm encompassed her back, holding her close to him, the other cruised easily over her body - his hand finding its way into her robes and fumbling with the front clasp of her bra. She helped him, loving the way he chuckled shyly when he couldn't get it undone and she kissed him gently.

Ohhhhh yes that was what she'd been wanting. His tongue pushed deep into her mouth and tangled with hers, then explored her gums, inner cheeks and the hard edge of her teeth. His thumb circled a crimping nipple, and then his palm closed over her breast urgently. He hadn't shaved well that morning because his stubble was prickling her, but felt exciting, exhilarating. He was unstoppable, his kisses stealing her very breath and she could feel her insides quicken with anticipation.

His hand left her breast and slid down her body, finding it's way through her clothes and delved between her legs. She moaned, knowing they were standing in the middle of a room anyone could walk in to and yet he was examining her most intimate of places and she was aching for it, desperately wanting him to finger-fuck her, to get her ready for his cock which she could feel pressing insistently into her belly.

He smelled of heat and fresh sweat that overpowered the scent that he applied to his skin. His hair fell forward and tangled with her own and she could smell the shampoo he'd washed it with. Oh Gods she just wanted to devour him. Two weeks was far too long to wait!

She stood on tip-toe and raised her pubis, offering it to his hand. He slid a finger through the thick folds and sank it deep inside her and she gasped and cried out a little as she bore down onto him. His thumb worked at her clitoris and she felt her legs begin to shake. She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight lest she fall.

"Do you want to show me what you learned?" Snape asked huskily, "I've been thinking about it since you told me, and I want you to show me what you did to Potters fingers."

In an instant she was on her knees on the gritty floor boards and his pants were unbuttoned, his cock protruding, hard and thick, the foreskin rolled back over the glans. She stared at it for a moment, took in the sight of it and then closed her hand around it and stroked it, letting the pre-cum act as a lubricant for her hand to move over the shaft.

"That's good, that's so good. I want you to suck it, put it in your mouth."

His cock was beating strongly in her face like some kind of a weapon and she wanted it inside her, to feel the meaty length of it in her wet pussy. She felt his hand run through her hair and he clenched a fist full of it, using it as a halter, drawing her face closer to his cock. He smelled musty and aroused and the smell was intoxicating.

She opened her lips and took his cock full into her mouth, amazed at how big it was, how it filled her, pushing her tongue back too far. He tasted strong and she lapped at the length of him, inserting the tip of her tongue into the tiny slit at head and tasting fresh pre-cum there. A growl came from deep within him and he tightened his grip on her hair, pushing himself deeper into her throat. Hermione wanted to gag, it was too deep, but she forced the reflex down. Harry had told her she would get used to it, it just took practice – and she was certainly willing to do that.

He stood there, legs braced, his head thrown back while she lavished pleasure on him. She released her hold and pulled back, gasping for air and looked up at him, realizing his features had curled into a snarl and that he was lost in the moment. His cock swayed persistently, seeking her mouth again and she closed over him, sucking him deep, gradually milking his orgasm from him. When he came she panicked, not sure if she should pull away or swallow and in the end she took some down the back of her throat and the rest creamed over her lips and chin.

He looked down at her, covered in his come and felt a moment of shame. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he knelt before her and gently cleaned her face, pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her eyes and finally her mouth.

They left the room silently, plunging into the corridor as student and hated Professor. When they reached the landing she turned towards the Great Hall for lunch and he turned in the opposite direction, towards the Infirmary, finally deciding that his leg might need seeing to.

He stopped her quickly, making certain that no one could hear them he whispered her name and she turned. Her face still looked erotic, her lips still swollen from sucking him.

"Come tonight," he said quietly, "come, if you want to…I sleep better with you there."

She smiled and nodded silently, then watched as he turned on his heel and swept down the corridor and away from her.

*************

"You're late."

Ron knew full well he was. He'd taken his time, secretly hoping that something would happen well before the sixteenth actually came, and when it hadn't, he'd dragged his feet, even stopping at the Hogshead for a few drinks to build his courage. "Yeah," he said, and looked nervously to the blackness of the night sky outside, "it was hard to get away."

"Really?" she asked sarcastically, "couldn't get out of dinner, or were your multitude of friends holding you up at school?"

He looked away, feeling the first edges of a craving coming over his body and he shivered. Ron wondered for a moment if she had anything to ease it, a dose of her drug, as he was running out of it and had to ration out as though it were precious.

"I hate to be kept waiting," she snapped, "You know that."

"I know."

"So did you have dinner?"

"Yes."

"Good, no need to waste our time with that then." She moved from her chair and paced a circle around him, "take your clothes off.

"Ange, I don't think…"

She stopped in front of him and her eyes narrowed. "You seem to think that was a request. It wasn't. Take your clothes off."

He swallowed. "I-I can't," he said, "I can't keep doing this. Please Ange, I can't…I-I'm sick."

"Yes," she grinned, "but I know what will make you feel better." She reached into her robes and withdrew a glass phial and he felt his mouth water at the sight of the reddish liquid inside. "You want this don't you? I can see it in your face."

He nodded, licking his dry lips.

"So how have you been feeling? Not well? I bet your magic isn't so strong at the moment either."

He frowned, confused and she saw the first flicker of fear in his eyes.

"Yes, the drug affects that. It's one of the down sides. It makes you weak when you don't have it, it makes you sick." She smiled, seductive. "But you still want it though, don't you Ronnie?"

He hesitated, and slowly nodded.

She laughed softly and padded around him, stopping behind him and tracing a lazy finger across his shoulders. She liked the feel of him, she liked the way his shoulders were quite straight, the way his pale neck seemed to stoop forward and that his hair was still slightly damp from his shower. She leaned in and brushed her lips against the back of his neck, allowing herself this one small pleasure from him. He smelled clean and fresh and vaguely like talc. Probably something his mother had given him. Perhaps something he had used since childhood.

Something that felt uncomfortably like love and tenderness settled into the pit of her stomach and Angelina pushed it further down. The Weasley boys could do that; they could induce love, care and compassion in a person – and then they could just as easily destroy it. Just look at how Ron was treating his best friend.

They were all the same.

"Undress for me."

He closed his eyes. "No," he whispered, "I can't."

Her face hardened and she pulled away from him. "Undress for me, or I will undress you myself."

"We have to stop this Angelina. We can't keep doing this."

"Don't piss me off Ron, you might not like what happens to you."

He turned away from her and she felt her blood run cold. No, he would not walk away. She was sick of watching _them_ walk away from her!

Ron felt a tug at his middle and suddenly he was being hauled backwards towards her, pulled by an unseen force and he wondered how it was that she was so very strong and he was suddenly so weak. The answer was of course, still in her hand. A sticky red liquid that fed his desire.

She flicked her wand, and suddenly his arms were above his head and he panicked, looking up in time to see two metal manacles lock tight around his wrists.

"W-what are you doing?"

"I told you not to piss me off."

"What are you going to do?" He struggled against the bonds, but found his struggling only made the cuffs around his wrist tighten, his fingers started to turn blue.

"It won't help to struggle. You are quite helpless, pathetic really."

"This is stupid Angelina," he cried, "let me down!"

She shook her head sadly, pointing her wand at him she laughed and said " _Abdo-Induviae"_

He heard the sound of tearing cloth and his robes were pulled away from him, thrown across the room and landing in a dirty heap in the corner. He looked at the meagre pile of black wool and worn white cotton. Hand-me-downs from the brother whose wife he was now a slave to. He almost smiled at the irony of it.

Angelina's stern expression did not change and with another swish of her wand, the chain holding him to the ceiling inched up and he watched it go, stretching his arms and lifting him so that he was on the very tops of his toes. His body was stretched taut, every muscle sang out and flexed, fighting to keep him stable in a position that seemed impossible to contemplate maintaining. He had no choice however. Angelina had him bound tightly.

She jerked his face down, held him by his jaw and forced him to open his eyes. He was confronted with his own reflection in a full length mirror and he realized that this was no punishment for being late or making her angry. She had planned this all along. She had the mirror ready, no matter what he did, and Ron knew he was always going to end up like this.

He felt his mind go numb and only some base primal part seemed to be working, some instinctual function within a quagmire of fear. Disgust and shame swept over him and then rage at himself and his captor for the fact that she could just do this so casually, and he could do nothing about it. His arms ached, his wrists ground against the metal binds holding him and, to his horror, his bladder began to send out urgent messages, causing him to regret the drinks he'd had to calm his nerves.

Angelina paced around him, inspecting his lean body and finally she said thoughtfully, "you know Ronnie, I think you like this. I mean it isn't such a high price to pay for what I can give you. Face it Ronnie, you need me."

He most certainly didn't need her. He hated the very sight of her. She stopped in front of him and he curled his lip and before he knew what he was doing, perhaps forgetting for the briefest of seconds just what position he was in, he spat at her.

Angelina remained calm. She knew they could be base and crude. The Weasley's might be Purebloods, but no one would ever suspect it, the way they behaved. She wiped the saliva from her face and took a step closer.

"That wasn't very nice Ronnie," she chided softly, "after all I have done for you. I think you might need to learn some manners."

She traced one small nipple and then rolled it hard between thumb and forefinger. He gasped and she smiled up at him before biting down onto the tiny bud, hard enough to make him cry out, and hard enough to draw blood. He struggled, feeling a blossom of stinging pain form on his chest and then another sensation took hold as she slid a syringe into the soft flesh of his groin and the heat of desire washed over him.

The drug was strong, pure, different, and good.

"Shhh," she admonished, watching his eyes roll a little into his head and knowing that he would come back in a moment, once the initial rush was over. "You know you want this. You want this, don't you Ronnie?"

His head lolled forward in a parody of a nod.

"Well, I'm going to have to hurt you, you know that don't you? Because you have been very naughty again. Look at what you are doing, betraying your brother, by seducing his wife. That's very bad isn't it?"

He nodded again, and his head didn't feel like it was on his neck any more.

"Look at what you are doing. You are here, naked, with me." She smiled as he tried to focus on his own reflection, "and look at your cock. It's nice and hard now." She slid her had down the length of him and stroked him gently, "you have an incredible cock. You want to put it inside me, I know you do."

His eyes began to clear as the euphoria died a little, he frowned, a small look that creased his features somewhat. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice a muffled somehow.

"Is that important?" she asked. "Maybe I like you." She stroked him a little harder. "Do you know, I could do anything I wanted to with you right now?"

Her voice was low, but he felt the power behind it, and with the drug coursing through him, her voice was turning him on as much as her touch.

"Are you listening to me?" She snapped and slapped him, hard, across the groin, making his body jerk and bringing him back to himself in an instant. He almost let go, his urge to pee mounting by the second, and he regained control of himself just in time.

Angelina walked around him, stripping her robes off as she went. She leaned in behind him, pressing her breasts into his back and he groaned, aching for her to touch him. She laughed at the sound he made and brought her hand down across one buttock with a force that shocked him. The room resounded with the sound of the slap.

She walked away from him and picked up something from the table. He focused on her hands and his eyes widened. It was a paddle of some kind, like something he had seen in London when he had gone to Soho with Harry and Hermione. But something told him this was no flimsy Muggle paddle. She flexed it between her hands and let the flat edge go with a little twang.

Ron shuddered and followed her progress as she resumed her predatory circling of him, craning his neck around as far as he could to watch Angelina; half convinced that she was joking, and trying, successfully, to scare him.

She stopped in front of him and stood naked before him, hands on hips, her nipples hard and he could see wetness between her legs. She went down on him, taking his cock into her mouth and drawing it back deep into her throat.

Oh Gods, it was good…it was so good. "Please stop, please stop"

She worked her mouth over him, caressing his balls with the flat edge of the paddle, bringing him close to orgasm. Then just as he was close to coming, she stopped and pulled away. She stood straight and glared at him, her mouth swollen.

"You're a horny slut," she purred. She rubbed some pre-cum onto her fingers and pushed the fingers into his mouth so that he could taste himself. The smell from her sex rose to his nostrils. The intoxicating smell of desire. She moved to the back of him and turned him to the mirror again.

"Look at yourself, look how horny you are."

His reflection was like an erotic view of his own personal hell. He was stretched out and pale, his body aching and aroused. He could see the evidence of his addiction rendered over his arms and legs as bruises in varying shades of black, purple and red. And she was behind him, one arm around him, stroking his cock. From behind she pressed a finger between his buttocks and the tiny mouth of his anus pursed in anticipation of the invasion. He whimpered.

"Unchain me," he said suddenly, "unchain me and I can make love to you."

She shook him angrily, stopping herself from laughing at his choice of words. She did not want him to love her – and she certainly didn't want to love him. "DID I TELL YOU TO SPEAK?"

"N-no," he faltered.

"Then don't!"

"But I need to – " he stopped as she gave him a warning glare.

"Shut up! You are not to speak!"

"But I need to p…"

She slapped him across the chest, his belly, his hips, and very nearly precipitating disaster. The pain was excruciating. She was lost to his sight, but he could hear, sense and feel her behind him. The pause stretched out like a yawn in the ether, while his skin burned from her first assault with the paddle, his bladder throbbed and his cock yearned for her.

Suddenly her finger pushed hard into him from behind and Ron gasped and cried out as she fingered him, finding his prostate and circling it, stroking her finger against it.

"You like this don't you? I can tell you do. You like my fingers in your arse and yet you hate what Harry does with his lover. Do you think he does this? Do you think he does this with D…"

"I don't know!" Ron rasped harshly. He didn't want to talk about Harry, not now.

"They do you know. They do more than this. They finger each other, they suck each other and you hate it because you know now that it feels good. You hate it because you want him. You've always wanted him."

Ron closed his eyes and felt a tear slip down his cheek. "Please, let me go."

"SHUT UP!"

A swish and sudden draught from behind gave him scant warning, then agony bit deep into his flesh as the paddle connected with the bare flesh of his rump. He yelped, and obeyed the animal instinct to empty his body proved too great in that moment and as stinging pain engulfed him, he felt the hot urine splash against his belly and then run down over his hip.

 _Oh Gods no, no, please no…_

The paddle landed again, lower this time, catching the crown of his left upper thigh, then his back, his ribs, and the length of his legs, over and over again. He screamed and tears welled up, spilling over – and yet she kept going. She thrashed him, warming to the momentum, and thoroughly enjoying it. She should have thought of this sooner, should have done it to George, to Charlie, and to the whole damn lot of them. It was cleansing and liberating to hear Ron scream like that. Knowing that she was inflicting his punishment, and aware that she was causing Molly Weasley's baby boy to scream, cry and plead.

And he was screaming, screaming loud enough to alert someone to his plight and she angrily paused long enough to cast a silencing charm, before resuming in earnest. Who knew he could scream like that? That fucking loud!

When she stopped he hung limp and silent and she smiled, out of breath. She pushed her hair back from her face and wiped her own spittle from her chin.

"You still with me Ronnie?"

He groaned softly, telling her that yes, he was still there.

She plunged three fingers into him, rotating her fingers around his prostate until he came, yelled and wanted to die for the shame of it.

She lowered the chain and he managed to find his feet. His arms were released and they fell limp and sore by his sides. She walked away and picked up the rags that were all that remained of his robes, and threw them at him. He shook as he wrapped himself in them. She had seen him at his weakest point. He had screamed, pissed and come in front of her; he had no dignity left. He had nothing left to salvage.

"Next time," she said matter of factly, "you will be on time, won't you Ronnie?"

He nodded silently, too ashamed to speak.

"Because I have been very forgiving of you. I mean, I could have gone to George."

He nodded again, wondering which fate would be worse.

***********

Semeuse tapped the front of the mirror and whispered his angel's name. It had been a long time since he had created a magic mirror and he had begun to give up on the task. Using a bowl to peer into the Edrasil would have to suffice, although a mirror had the benefit of being larger and far more easily accessible. In the end he sought out and found a partially made one from the various collections in the Museum and he finished it using a hard based Planetary Tincture and the Edrasil carrier. The result stood before him. Full length and ornate, it was his visual portal to his obsessions.

The surface of the mirror seemed almost to liquefy and change, and then suddenly Lucius was there in front of him.

The Curators heart swelled and felt as though it would burst with longing. Lucius lay in the bed, sleeping soundly. Peaceful and alone. Semeuse hadn't seen him since he'd Apparated back to the travelling exhibition five days before. He was desperate to return to London. He could not go, not during the week at least. It would not do to allow the Aurors to let suspicions grow and thus he let duty keep him away. He would go to the Museum on the weekend, he would have to. He watched Lucius sleep, his heart racing and desire pulling him closer to the glass.

A glance at the clock told him that the Museum Elves were late. He had tasked them with the meticulous care of his beloved. He had told them that this was the most precious of things and that they must attend to him as though the Curator was there to supervise – which he was – the Elves just weren't aware of that fact.

He waited patiently and they finally appeared. Three of them looked anxiously at the Angel's body as though afraid of it, and then quickly set to work. The blankets were removed and dirty linen taken away and changed. Semeuse silently urged them on, aching for them to get to Lucius himself. They seemed pointedly to avoid touching him, a little afraid. He could understand why. Many of the Elves who worked at the Museum had been freed from their families – and some incident, years before, had freed many of them from the Malfoy Manor. The Elves were essentially tending their old Master – and they obviously remembered him well.

 _He can't hurt you little Elves, but I can, so get on with it…_

The Elves moved on to Lucius, finding their courage and lifting him to a sitting position, his head fell forward and one of the Elves was almost entirely engulfed in hair. They quickly removed the shift and lay him back into the pillows and set about cleaning him, their deft fingers working fast over the pale flesh.

Semeuse smiled and felt his cock harden at the sight of the naked body played out before him. He longed to touch him, longed to run his own hands over that smooth skin. He had always been the one to clean his Angel, it was his task and one he had longed for. To watch others do this was like torture. To just observe others running their hands over him, combing his hair, and cutting his nails, or as they moved his limbs to stimulate nerves and muscle…it was almost too much to bear.

 _Oh Gods, he is so beautiful._

Semeuse wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him, take his body and taste the clean flesh. He knew how Lucius would taste, he knew that the flesh would be salty and somehow sweet. He knew his lips would be soft and his spit would taste vaguely of honey.

Much the same way his son's spit had tasted.

The son. Now there was a problem. The boy had petitioned the Ministry to have his father returned and the idiotic Fudge was actually considering it. He had been to see Semeuse only the day before and it had taken hours of persuasion to ensure that the Angel wasn't handed over on the spot. Semeuse had submitted a counter claim, saying that for the good of the Wizarding world, the son should not have him. Fudge had mentioned some kind of trouble recently, something in the papers, but Semeuse was refusing to read the Daily Prophet or its gossiping counterparts, and he was certain it would be nothing of any real interest.

Semeuse had sent the Edrasil to Hogwarts with his most trusted owl, who had managed to avoid being intercepted and had dropped the liquid directly over the boy's window sill. To the Curators eternal dismay, the view down from the windowsill was of a chair, a fireplace and a bookshelf – all from above. When he did see the room's occupant it was usually only a fleeting glimpse and Semeuse was learning little of the boy's habits.

One thing that was patently obvious was that Draco Malfoy shared a room with his lover, a boy the same age as Draco himself, with a head of tangled black hair that seemed to stick out in all directions. He was strangely slight, giving the appearance of fragility and strength, all in the one body. Occasionally the dark haired boy would appear, naked, his skinny hips seemingly too narrow for his broad, angular shoulders and when he caught the occasional glimpse of lightly tanned skin, Semeuse felt a rush of pleasure run through him.

The Angels son kept himself infuriatingly covered. When he did go to the bookshelf, or sit in front of the fire, he was wrapped tightly in his robes, as though self-conscious, or perhaps aware that he was being watched. The angle of the vision was such that it was always above them and Semeuse was disappointed that he could never really see their faces. He would have liked to have seen his face, to ensure that the boy was as like his father as Semeuse remembered him to be.

Semeuse watched the room rarely, preferring to focus on his Angel. His vision of perfection, lying in his bed so very far away. The Elves had pulled a fresh shift over his head and were smoothing it down over his body, hiding him from the world. Carefully they drew the blankets up over him and it was only then that they realized he was awake and staring straight ahead. They looked at him for a moment as though expecting him to move and hit one of them, but he lay perfectly still, impotent to stop them as one placed a perfectly executed kick into his ribs.

The Curator stood, roared, and Apparated. He had obviously been away too long.

"You have to tell Potter that Professor Dumbledore has decided to confine the pair of you to the school."

"What?" Draco had just arrived in Snape's chambers hoping to hear that his godfather had found more in Lucius' journal. Draco did not want to know that he was officially stuck in the school. "Why? What have we done?"

"Nothing, Hogsmeade is crawling with photographers from the Daily Prophet all trying to get a picture of the pair of you together and Albus is trying to avoid that." Snape smiled thinly. "Also, Potter's post has taken a decidedly – sexual – turn, it seems there are a large number of Wizards out there who wouldn't mind doing what you do and want to prove that they can…and…it appears they have set up camp in Hogsmeade as well."

Fuck.

"Now, do you know anyone by the name of Regina Vermoral?"

Draco scowled, thought about it, and shook his head.

"She's a Muggle, in her early thirties, and people might think she is a little odd."

"Odd how?"

"Crazy."

"Why would I know a Muggle nutter?" The only nutter I know of is that woman in the village near home with all the cats, but she's really old."

Snape knew the cat lady well enough. When he was young Lucius used to pay him to sneak up and charm her plants so that she thought they were talking to her. He nudged back an irritating shame that suggested that they might be responsible for some of her madness.

"No, not her, this woman would be young, possibly attractive, someone your father…knew."

"Someone my dad shagged? A Muggle? Dad wouldn't shag a Muggle."

"Draco, take the rose collared glasses off for one moment. When it came to your father the words 'anything with a pulse' took on new meaning."

Draco folded his arms and scowled a little harder. "He wasn't _that_ bad. He did have his standards."

"Yes, low ones."

"Not at all, he liked beauty and intelligence. If someone was stupid he didn't mind so long as they were beautiful, and vice versa. If someone was ugly but intelligent he liked them too."

Snape sneered, not entirely convinced.

"He shagged you didn't he?"

Snape's eyes widened and he was momentarily struck dumb.

"I know lots of things Uncle Severus."

Evidently. Snape cleared his throat, deciding not to pursue the line of questioning any further. Draco, however, seemed reluctant to let it go.

"He always had a soft spot for you. It must have been a real shock when he found out you had betrayed him."

Snape frowned again, his relationship with Lucius was not something he wanted to discuss here. "I think he understood more than you realize." He stroked the journal protectively, "Now if you don't mind, I would like to get back to Regina Vermoral."

"Alright." Draco sat himself down and traced a pattern on the cover of a dusty book, "why do you want to know about her."

"Because I think she is the one whom your father went to when he was looking to make the potion that he took. If we can find her, and she's still alive, I'm hoping we can get her to tell us how he did it."

"Why would she be dead?"

"He may have killed her when he got what he wanted. It wouldn't be the first time."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Non would know."

"The House Elf?"

Draco nodded. "Dad told Non everything because he was bound to keep his secrets."

A House Elf, of all things. Typical of Lucius, he wanted to tell his secrets, so he told them to the one being that would be harder to break than Gringotts. Even Elves who hated their Masters were hard to convince to talk; Non was something completely different. Non was entirely devoted to Lucius Malfoy, and he was also intelligent, not a quality highly prized in House Elves, but certainly prized in Non. He was not going to tell the secret willingly and he certainly wasn't going to be tricked to give it up. It would be easier to remove the giant squid's tonsils than get that Elf to talk.

"Would he tell you?"

Draco shrugged, "Maybe, if Dad told him he could."

"Can you summon him?"

"No, Non is bound to the house. I can go there."

"No you can't. Dumbledore has confined you to the school."

"Yeah, so I'll sneak out."

Snape sighed, "Actually, you can't. Dumbledore has cast wards around both you and Potter. You wouldn't get out the front gate."

 _Oh you have got to be joking._ Draco opened his mouth to let fly with a stream of insults and remarks, Snape stopped him before the first words made it past his lips.

"What if I go and get him?"

"He'll probably scratch your eyes out trying to stay at the house."

 _Oh Good Grief! "I will have to try and find a way."_

 _****************  
Please go to part 3 _


	31. Edge of Reason Part 3

Chapter 13 - Part 3

****************

 _12 February 1999_

 _Dear Miss Granger_

 _Please find enclosed a summons to attend the trial of one Viktor Krum that has been scheduled for Friday 26 March, 1999. The charges relating to this matter are of Attempted Murder, Assault and Attempted Rape on your person. Please be advised that if you do not respond to this summons or fail to appear at the Ministry of Magic on Friday, 26 March 1999, Mr. Krum will receive a full pardon and be allowed to return to his home country a free man._

 _If you have any queries regarding this summons please do not hesitate to contact our office._

 _Sincerely_

 _Anya Zohar  
Secretary  
Ministry of Magic._

 _12 February 1999_

 _Dear Mr. Malfoy_

 _With regards to your petition no. ∑∏∆∏≡∂_

 _After careful consideration the Ministry of Magic have reached a decision regarding the transferral of Prisoner No. XX∆∏∂, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, to your custody._

 _At this time the Ministry believes we cannot place Mr. Malfoy in your custody. Your schooling commitments, health problems and recent revelations in the press have led the Ministry to believe that you would be unable to create a suitable environment for the prisoner. As such, temporary custody has been granted to Mr. Archibald Semeuse, Curator of the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities._

 _You have 30 days in which to appeal this decision._

 _Sincerely_

 _Anya Zohar  
Secretary  
Ministry of Magic. _

Ron made his way back from Hogsmeade with the first feeling of hope that had entered his body in a month. She was leaving. Tomorrow morning she would be gone and he wouldn't have to see her again. Not until the summer, and by then he could reasonably expect to get himself a decent job and get as far away from her as possible.

Once upon a time he had hoped to work with his brothers, but now the idea seemed absurd. He doubted he'd ever be able to look George in the face again, nor would he ever be able to sit at the family table without feeling guilt over what he had done.

He wondered if she was as cruel and hard with George, or whether it was a punishment reserved for him and him alone. A punishment for his own duplicity. Thinking back now, he couldn't even recall why he had wanted her, or what had made him think of her as a lover, but it must have occurred to him at some point, because he had seduced her. He must have seduced her, she told him that he had, and she kept telling him it was all his fault.

"You seduced me," she said and he had agreed with her, so it must be true.

Tonight she had been gentle with him. Loving even. He grimaced at the memory of it, and then couldn't help but laugh at himself. In a way he hated that she was loving, hated that more than when she caused him pain. When she was loving he was forced to confront himself and confront the fact that he liked it. When she was loving he wanted her. He wanted to kiss her, caress her, and feel himself inside the confines of her body. When she was gentle he sought her touch and felt some comfort in it. He could almost pretend that she could possibly love him and that she was not his brothers wife, but some other woman entirely, someone who was entirely his.

And the very idea of being that way with her made him physically ill.

He could smell her all over him, taste her sex in his mouth. She had taken him on the floor and his body was covered in a fine film of sweat and grime. He felt filthy. Beneath his robes his shoulder throbbed and he knew that the fresh puncture wound was oozing blood and pus down his arm. He needed to shower.

By the time he reached the castle it was late, well after two in the morning, and even the ghosts seemed to be resting. His footsteps made a hollow sound as he trod across the flagstones and mounted the stairs to the tower. The staircase had never seemed so impossibly long. He had noticed it in the past weeks, that they had become harder to climb and tonight he found himself stopping to catch his breath, looking up at the seeming never-ending spiral and wishing he had his broom. By the time he reached the picture hole to the Common Room he was sweating and his sweat stank of something feral, like something evil lurking beneath his skin.

He made for the showers, his mind so suddenly consumed with ridding himself of the stench that he didn't bother to remove his robes. He pulled them wet from his body and dumped them in a puddle of water and wool on the floor. He let the water run over his body, turning the hot tap up as far as it would go until steam filled the room and his skin was red raw. But still he could smell her. A sob wrenched from his body and he scrubbed, digging his fingers into his flesh and trying desperately to scratch her out of his veins.

It wouldn't come out. He could feel her coursing through him as sure as the drug itself, and then his veins opened and the holes in his arms gave way and his arms streaked red in the water.

Ron smiled. It was coming out, the drug was coming out. That was good, that was a good thing.

But it wasn't the drug, it was blood…and Charlie wasn't here to make it better. Ron turned the shower off and stood there, letting his body cool and watched, entranced, as the blood stopped and all that remained were the bruises. As though the blood had never been there at all.

 _Oh Gods, look at the state of me._

He began to shiver as the cold air filtered through the steam, and then he lost sense of himself and sank down to the floor.

*****************

Semeuse tangled his fingers in his Angel's hair and drew him close. His body was warm and pliable, and thanks to their recent swimming, he was regaining some of the muscles that had begun to waste away. He was still far too thin, but there was little the Curator could do about that. Forcing food down his Angel's throat was not an option.

Still, he brought him offerings, and with Valentines Day so very close, he had chosen chocolate to try and tempt Lucius into eating. He dipped a finger into the melted pot of fudge and smeared a thin film of it along his Angel's inner lip. Lucius' pink rag of a tongue instinctively came out to taste it and Semeuse smiled.

"Yes, that's right, it's chocolate. Do you remember chocolate?"

Lucius did not answer and after a moment a thin stream of chocolaty drool ran down his chin. Semeuse smiled indulgently and licked it away.

"Would you like to see what Draco is doing?"

He had brought the mirror with him, a Valentines gift that he was willing to give early. After watching the room with greater care, Semeuse had discovered that the boy would sit in front of the fire and read every night for hours. He was like clock work. He would sit there, late at night, engrossed in whatever book had taken his fancy and he would stay there until his lover returned and called him to bed.

It was a view that Semeuse hoped would excite Lucius. The vision of his son with his knees curled up under him, reading peacefully. Something that would perhaps give his Angel comfort until Semeuse could get the boy here, and the pair could be together.

"He reads,' Semeuse explained as he moved the mirror into place, "and he looks so lovely, I thought you might like to watch him."

He tapped the surface of the mirror and waited as the glass changed to reveal the familiar contours of the boy's room.

Except this wasn't familiar, not familiar at all! Instead of Draco quietly reading as Semeuse expected he would be, the vision came clear and they were confronted with the sight of two boys fucking against the book case.

A smile spread across the Curators face and he crawled back to Lucius, never taking his eyes from the mirror. The dark haired one, the lover, was spread across the book case, the edge of his buttocks on one of the shelves, his legs hooked over Draco's elbows. He had braced himself, holding onto the edges of the shelf for support and Draco was pumping hard into him. Hard enough to unsettle the contents of the shelf, books, photographs and trinkets were raining down on them.

Draco was half dressed, his clothes askew and Semeuse couldn't help but wonder if he was ever naked. The lover was deliciously naked, and taking the boy deep into him.

"Look at them Lucius," Semeuse breathed. From what he could see of their faces the pair looked caught between ecstasy and torture. "Look at how they want it, look at how they are loving it."

Lucius stared and Semeuse thought for a moment he could discern a change in the Angel's expression. He was watching, aware of what he was seeing.

"Is he warm inside Lucius? As warm as you? Look at him, strong and dominant; he can't get deep enough into the boy can he? Is he like you in that respect; is that something you taught him?"

He slid a hand up the Angel's thigh and gently began to knead his soft cock until it slowly hardened.

"You like this? Do you like watching your son while I touch you?" He stroked Lucius a little harder, "we can watch him together. When he gets here, you can watch me move inside of him. Would you like that?"

Semeuse swept his gaze back to the mirror and the intimate scene contained there and gently began to masturbate Lucius with skilful hands. The boys in the mirror were cresting, he could see by the urgency with which they moved their hips. They would orgasm soon and Semeuse waited for that moment, hoping that perhaps they would lift their faces a little, show him how beautiful they were.

"Do you think we will see him Lucius, Draco's lover? Perhaps we might see him tonight, see if his face is pretty enough for our boy…or do you know who he is already? Do you know if he is beautiful enough?"

Draco came, shoving hard into his lover and the dark haired boy screamed and clutched at Draco's shoulders. He lifted his face, and Semeuse moved forward in anticipation as his eyes opened and there was a flash of brilliant green…and the mirror shattered.

Semeuse turned back to the Angel whose face was hard, as though he had been concentrating for a long time.

"Lucius!" He growled it out, ominous as anger flashed over him, "you are a very naughty boy."

*****************

Harry yawned and scratched then regretted the pint of water he'd had to drink before bed. His body ached a little. It was a pleasant ache, one that told him he'd been shagged senseless and that he should be back in bed curled around Draco. He had no idea how Draco managed to down so much water before bed and actually manage to sleep through the night – not that they had been doing much sleeping for the last hour. Harry wouldn't mind so much except that now Draco was advising Harry drink the same amount and now it was 2am and Harry was desperate to pee.

He was surprised to hear the sound of running water when he entered the bathroom. Someone obviously deciding to have a late night shower. The sound of it only increased Harry's need to relieve himself and he almost skipped to the urinal. The water stopped shortly after and Harry was relieved when the bathroom fell into silence.

He stood at the urinal and resisted the urge to rub sleep from his eyes. He didn't want to wake up fully; he just wanted to go back to bed and bask in the pool of warmth Draco created beneath the covers. He smiled dopily, thinking of Draco mumbling something unintelligible to him when he got up and then rolling over to resume snoring softly. He had to admit it, Ron kicking him out of their room had been a blessing disguised in a nasty wrapper. Harry loved the fact that he had ready access to Draco's body and he sometimes found himself sitting up in bed at night, watching Draco sleep, gently stroking his hair and almost crying with happiness.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound that came from the showers and Harry braced himself for whomever it might be. He hoped they wouldn't say anything, as he was in a good mood and he really wasn't up for a fight tonight.

But no-one came out. Harry frowned and listened. There was definitely someone there; he'd heard the shower running, and the only way out of the bathroom was to go through the toilets, so no one had come out. He listened carefully, straining his ears to hear and finally he made out the sound. Like a sob. Like someone crying.

He had vague visions of some poor sod that had fallen over in the shower and was lying there in pain until morning because Harry was reluctant to investigate. He sighed, washed his hands and walked slowly to the showers, hoping that who ever it was wouldn't take his being there the wrong way.

"Ron?"

It was Ron, of course it was, Harry could hardly mistake him. He was sitting on the floor of the shower stall, knees drawn up to his chest, soaking wet and rocking back and forth. He shivered with cold and as he raised his eyes to Harry he seemed absent, as though he wasn't really seeing him at all.

Harry quickly grabbed a towel and, crouching before Ron, he wrapped it around his friends shivering form. He couldn't fail to notice the livid bruises that marred Ron's arms and legs. They looked like puncture wounds. Some were old, some horribly fresh.

"What's wrong? What happened to you?"

Ron didn't speak, he didn't seem to realize that Harry was there. Harry wrapped a second towel around him and tried to pull him forward, out of the cold water on the tiled floor. He rocked forward, almost collapsing into Harry's arms, his wet cheek crushing against Harry's shoulder and he lay that way for a long while, seemingly content to shiver there, drawing some of Harry's strength and calming his breathing to a slow measured pace.

Harry didn't speak. He moved, going down to his knees on the wet floor and holding Ron tightly, feeling him shiver in his arms and wondering what had caused this, why he was here, and what had happened? At last he had to break the silence, needing to know what was wrong, needing to know how he could help fix this.

"What happened Ron?" Harry whispered and his stomach twisted as Ron tensed as he really heard Harry's voice for the first time and realized just what he was doing. Ron pulled back, almost tearing himself from Harry's arms.

"Ron…" Harry knew this was hopeless, he could see from the look on Ron's face, "please, just tell me what happened."

"Get away from me," Ron hissed, "get your filthy hands off me!"

"Ron." Harry shook his head in dismay, but decided he needed to push on. "We are worried about you, Hermione and I…"

"Spare me your concern, I don't need it."

"Something's going on with you. If you just tell me what is going on I might be able to help you!"

"Ever the hero eh Harry?" Ron sneered, "The only help you could possibly give me is to leave me the fuck alone. Why don't you run back to the ferret? He might want to butt fuck you some time soon."

Harry stood up and began to walk away, but he forced himself to stop, and turned to face Ron who was still on the floor looking like an injured animal. "Why are you so determined to push away the people who actually care about you?"

"If you cared about me, you wouldn't have started fucking that son of a bitch."

So there it was. Draco. Not that he was gay, but that it was Draco.

"What are the bruises on your arms and legs?"

"None of your fucking business, so just fuck off."

"I can tell you what they look like."

"JUST FUCK OFF!"

"You look like a fucking junkie Ron."

Ron stood quickly and advanced on Harry, catching Harry completely off guard. He hadn't expected Ron to move so damned fast, whilst a moment ago he just didn't look capable of doing anything. Ron's face was a mask of pure, unadulterated, hate.

"Listen, you filthy little faggot," Ron spat the words out, his face so close to Harry's that spittle flecked his cheek, "if I want your fucking concern or your filthy fucking opinions I'll ask for them. Now fuck off back to that disgusting piece of shit you sleep with and leave me the fuck ALONE!"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he took a step back from the man in front of him. The realization came like a bolt from the blue; at that moment he didn't care if Ron lived or died. Harry turned on his heel and stormed from the showers.

**************

Semeuse took a step back from the bed and his hands involuntarily flew to his face. He couldn't believe what he had done; he couldn't believe that he had damaged a specimen so precious! Returning to the bed and running his shaking fingers lightly over the rapidly bruising face, he knew it was true.

His anger had taken him by surprise. His sudden feeling that Lucius was never happy, and that Lucius had wilfully destroyed something that he had crafted with such loving care. His only portal to keep himself sane when he was not here with Lucius. He had lashed out, and it was such a base reaction, something Archibald Semeuse would never have considered possible for himself to do. Just what was the Angel doing to him? How could he be driven into such a rage?

The cheekbone was broken; he could see that without feeling the bone. They would need a healer, and fast. One that wouldn't ask questions.

He gently stroked Lucius' hair back from his face and wondered if he should Enervate him or leave him unconscious until help arrived. He knew a healer, someone from the nether regions of Knockturn Alley who would come and fix this – with a price tag for his silence.

Semeuse summoned an Elf, one he trusted and who was bound to him and sent him on his mission. He then returned his attention to Lucius, stroking his shoulder, his throat, and his damaged cheek.

"I'm sorry my darling one," he kissed the hard bone of his shoulder, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I should not have hit you. It won't happen again, I promise."

He looked back to the broken mirror and felt a rising dismay. Lucius was going to have to be tamed for a bit, especially if Semeuse was going to get the boy here. While he liked the fact that Lucius could think and was aware, the fact that he could do magic, however hard it was for him to do so, was going to cause a problem.

He was going to have to look into binding spells.

*********

Angelina had been tempted to stay in Hogsmeade another night. It was a temptation she considered a weakness on her part, but she couldn't afford to have them, not now when she was so close to finishing everything. She had found Ron's body to be far more pleasurable than she would ever have hoped, and on their last night together she could not help but be loving and gentle. She wanted to kiss him, wanted it to be like it had been with Charlie – before his family got in the way. Her desires to love him were mere conflict on her part, and when all was said and done, she knew that this was one temptation she would have to forgo.

She had always known that this moment would come eventually, and to continue with Ron for her own pleasure had not been part of the plan. The time had come and she simply had to steal her courage and finish this.

But the knowledge that she had to end it did not help her feel any better about what she had done to him. She hadn't expected to feel sad when she looked at his pale form, marred by bruises, broken skin and riddled with an addiction that she had caused. Still, she knew that the blame lay with his family. The Weasley's had caused it all. If they hadn't been so damn suffocating, and if that bitch of a mother hadn't torn Charlie from her – as though Angelina was nothing. Who were they to be so very high and mighty? Who were they to pass judgment on her? She had loved him last night and that should be enough. It was her apology, or at least the best he was going to get from her. Beyond that she could feel nothing.

Ron was hers to do with as she chose now. She had taken him from being an awkward lover to being a skilled one; that would be her legacy to him. If all else failed he could always become a whore. In fact it was a fate she thought might be a good one – a constant shame to the family, and a purulent thorn in their sides. She was ready to go ahead with her plan, and Ron was ready for it. His addiction had made him paranoid and pliable to her will. She had convinced him easily that he had instigated the affair, that it was all his fault, and that he had been the one. The betrayer. If anyone ever asked him questions about it, he would agree with her version of events.

She smiled as she considered the fact that all of her work was about to come to fruition. The Weasley's, who had been the destroyers of her happiness, were about to get a lesson in family loyalties. She would destroy them for humiliating her. She would tear at the very fabric of what made them strong, and she would enjoy tearing the family apart.

She had often gone over in her head the possible ways that the family would stand. In the end she had decided that Ginny might well stay on Ron's side, as she had always looked up to him and they were closer to each other's ages. Fred would obviously go with George, while Bill would sit on the fence, Arthur would bury his head in the sand and pretend it wasn't happening and Molly…the smile of Angelina's face broadened…Molly would respond in anger, as she always did. Molly would lash out without thinking and hopefully cause some kind of irretrievable family rift.

Then the news of the family strife would filter to the press (no doubt aided by an anonymous nudge of her own) and Arthur would lose the up coming Ministry election and would be buried in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office for the rest of his days.

The family would be ruined – and all because of one stupid little boy.

It was perfect.

The plan had come about easily enough. She'd had the idea one night after another family dinner where Fred and George swapped roles to confuse their mother. The woman was easily confused, as Angelina could tell the pair apart, so how come their mother couldn't? Molly kept glaring at her, no doubt finding a multitude of faults to pick at and Angelina suddenly knew what to do. She looked at Ron, laughing like a twit, and back to the twins, and slowly she had let her face changed, sadden, and then she had sighed. Later she had gone to Ron and sobbingly confessed that she suspected his brother of having an affair. Could they talk, perhaps have a drink some night? She really could use a friendly ear.

And so she took Ron's comfort and twisted it to meet her own needs. Seducing him was easy, a simple of matter of slipping a potion into his drink and making sure he felt that he had suggested it. She would play the good wife for the first time. She would cry and she would leave him, and then she would step it up. They shared a secret, a secret he was terrified of her confessing. Getting the drug into him was another simple step and once it was there, it wouldn't take much. Addiction was guaranteed. The drug made him weak, and she had also placed an antibody for an ancient disease into it, something to wear away at his immune system and then bulked the drug up with a steroid that would keep him able to function. The disease would not kill him, just make him ill and unable to fight the drug in his system.

Angelina now had her pawn in place. He was guilty of sleeping with his brother's wife and that would be enough to have the family shut him out and then the manipulation would come about. She knew Molly Weasley well enough to know that she would never admit him back into the fold

She would leave them to stagger under the loss of a son who was not dead, but was dead to them. George might never miss her, but he would miss his brother. She hoped George never recovered his trust in any of them.

She arrived back at the place she had called her home for three years and quickly removed her smile, adopting her very best hurt wife expression and seeking out her husband.

"Did you miss me?"

He jumped, obviously not expecting her home so soon. He smiled broadly; "Ange! I thought you weren't coming back until next weekend."

"I bet that put a damper on your plans, especially with Valentines Day being tomorrow."

George couldn't help but sigh. She had that tone of voice on, and that look of her face. "How was Hogsmeade?" he asked warily, pushing his work aside lest it get in the way of the fight he could see was brewing in her.

"Good, very pleasurable."

He frowned a little, but smiled hopefully. "Good, I'm glad you enjoyed it. You should have stayed the extra week, given yourself a bit of a holiday."

"You would have liked that, wouldn't you?"

"No, of course not." George resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When she was in one of these moods there was no reasoning with her. "All I meant was that you should take a break, you work really hard, and you need a rest."

"Oh yeah right, all concerned for me are you?"

"Of course, I…"

"And it has nothing to do with Marbella Ronda being London?"

"Marbella Ronda?" He did roll his eyes now, unable to believe that she had come back with this in her head. "Fucking hell Ange, not this again."

 _"Not this again?_ Perhaps if you stopped seeing her it might have gone away, but you had to persist with it, didn't you?"

George pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off the headache that was looming. He couldn't understand where this had come from. It had started months ago, just after she had started working with the Muggle drugs for St Mungo's. Suddenly this woman, this Marbella Ronda had appeared and he was supposedly having an affair. At first he thought she had mistaken him for Fred somehow and that it was girl Fred was seeing…which would have been great, except he knew full well that Fred was as gay as the hills…and Marbella Ronda was definitely a woman, not some Drag-Queen that Fred might have dragged home.

"Angelina, we have been through this so many times now, I don't know anyone named Marbella Ronda, you are the only person I have been with."

"Do you think I am a complete idiot? I'm well aware of what has been going on!"

"And what exactly do you think has been going on?" George almost grabbed her and shook her, she was glaring back at him, her face hard.

"Alright, tell me if this sounds familiar. Your mother, who hates the sight of me, introduced you to Marbella Ronda last year and you have been having an affair with her ever since."

"I have no idea what you are talking about! My mother hasn't introduced me to anyone!"

"Your Mother wants you to leave me and marry that bitch!"

"My Mother wants you to get pregnant and have babies; she doesn't want to get rid of you!" George began to pace, trying to think of a way to reason with his wife who had, in the past few months seemed to have lost any sense of reason she might have had. "How could I have been having an affair, I'm always at home with you."

"YOU FUCKING LIAR! You get Fred to stay here with me, you get him to pretend he is you! Didn't you think I'd notice? Didn't you think I'd notice he wasn't you?"

George stared at her in amazement, his mouth worked open and closed a few times. "You're insane, you're completely fucking insane!"

"Oh really?" She smirked, like a child with a secret it was about to reveal, "Ron doesn't think so."

"What does Ron have to do with this?"

"He knows about Marbella Ronda, he knows about your dirty little games. He told me all about them."

"Ron? Ron told you I was having an affair with Marbella Ronda?" George couldn't believe it. It was impossible, "why would he do that?"

"Because he understands me, and he's not going to lie to me just because you're his brother."

"But…" George scowled, it didn't make any sense, "but he's lying. I don't know this woman, and I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Ron thinks you do."

"Then Ron is full of shit! Since when did you start listening to anything Ron says?"

"Since he started doing things for me that you haven't managed for a long time."

George felt his heart suddenly freeze in his chest and he stared at his wife who was looking triumphant and defiant at him. When he found his voice he rasped out, barely above a whisper. "What…what have you done with Ron?"

"Nothing I haven't already done with you, although I have to say he has an incredible cock, I could just suck on it all day. He likes that, he likes my mouth on him. He makes me get down on my knees and he pushes it right into my th…"

"You…you and… _Ron?"_ No, that was impossible. Ron would never do that. Ron wouldn't lie to her, Ron wouldn't convince her that he was having an affair just to get her into his bed. Ron was his brother; he just simply wouldn't do this.

"Why do you think I wanted to go to Hogsmeade?" She asked bitterly, "Ron knew we could be together there without having to worry about you walking in on us. Christmas was a nightmare, all that sneaking around."

"Christmas? You were with him at Christmas? _IN MY PARENT'S HOUSE?"_

"In his childhood room at that. He likes it when I'm on top so I can ride him. His cock is so huge, I can feel it right up inside me when we make love that way."

George felt his legs go and he leaned heavily against the fire place. "You fucked my brother." He wasn't sure if he was saying it to her or just to the air so that he could hear the words.

"So now you know what it feels like. Now you know how it feels to be the idiot sitting at home, waiting for someone who is out screwing around. Now you know how it feels to be the one left in the dark!"

"I've never had an affair," he said, defeated, "I've never cheated on you."

"That's not what Ron says."

"WELL FUCK RON!" he looked her up and down in disgust, and said with bitter sarcasm; "oh wait a minute, you already did!"

"He told me not to tell you…he said you wouldn't understand. He's right though. It is one rule for you and another for every body else. You can fuck around as much as you want but you expect me t…."

"I DIDN'T FUCKING CHEAT ON YOU! IF RON TOLD YOU THAT HE IS LYING TO YOU."

"Why would Ron lie to me?"

"TO GET YOU INTO BED YOU DAFT COW!" George stopped and buried his face in his hands. He'd started to cry with frustration, but he couldn't remember the tears starting. How could Ron have done this, how could Ron have betrayed him like this? He tried to calm himself, to reason with her. "Ange, I've not cheated on you, there is no other woman. Ron has lied to you."

"No…" she shook her head, "You're the liar; you always have been."

George felt his body begin to numb. He felt empty, and hollow somehow. Angelina was turning and walking away from him, from the life they had made. He watched her going as though he were watching a vision of a catastrophe and being wholly unable to stop it. He didn't want to lose her – he loved her. How was he going to get by without her? To think of her with his brother tortured him, imagining her twisted around Ron, kissing him, licking him, sucking him…his brother!

It seemed to him that he had always been supported by her clarity and conviction and it had kept him grounded. He had feared to bend to her world, perhaps he thought that to do so would cause him to lose her bearings, and instead it had caused him to lose her. Their relationship had always been volatile.

But his _brother?_ His treacherous brother.

He did not run after her. He did not, as he considered doing, plead with her to stay. He considered calling her back, but instead let her go, not wanting to see her face again. His mind turned to the one who man he had once thought he could trust with her.

Ron.

He had delivered her to him!

Ron who had filled her head with lies and was the one to blame for the demise of his marriage. Months of fighting could be laid at Ron's door. False accusations about a woman he had never even met – all Ron's creation.

George slid to the floor, shut his eyes and listened as the front door closed and his wife walked out of his life.

**********************************************************


	32. Perfect Day

**Chapter 14** ****

 **Perfect Day** **  
**

"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

"I didn't want to leave you Draco, I had no choice."

"You had plenty of choices; you just chose the wrong ones."

"You have been with Potter too long. You're beginning to think like him."

"Maybe if you'd thought like him for half a minute you wouldn't be in this mess – and I wouldn't have to lose him."

Draco heard Lucius sigh as though it was a rustle of leaves on a summer breeze. "I am sorry I disappointed you, but I was never infallible. I never claimed to be anything other than I was."

"No," Draco was bitter, "you were just a selfish arrogant pig who cared more about power than you did about your family."

"Good-bye Draco."

"No!" Draco felt the idea of loss as a jolt through his body, "Don't go, not yet, please…stay here, don't go away."

"Stay with Potter, he can protect you."

"But I have to save you."

"Now you're beginning to sound like him. Think like a Slytherin Draco. I am gone; there is nothing of me left for you to save."

Draco's eyes opened and he moved to hold Harry in his arms, trying to lose himself in Harry's warmth, in the soft sounds of sleep, and the shifts and movements of the other body that was so familiar to him now that it could have been his own. But as he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, his father's voice, soft and resigned, came to him. _There is nothing of me left for you to save._

"But you're here! You're here now," Draco cried.

"This is a dream, you're dreaming it."

"But you're here!"

"Good-bye Draco."

"NO!"

But he was gone.

 _"DADDY!"_

Suddenly awake and with his heart pounding too hard for his body to cope with, Draco clutched Harry tightly to his chest and tried to calm himself. He trembled a little as he settled Harry's sleeping form into the pillows and turned to pull a small phial from his bedside drawer. Downing it's contents swiftly, he felt his heart returning to its normal pace, and his body stopped shaking.

"It's alright," he whispered and trembled in spite of himself. He wiped sleep from his eyes and found wetness on his cheeks; he must have been crying.

"You okay?"

He jumped and turned a forced smile on Harry who was looking up at him sleepily. "Yeah," he wiped the tears away, grateful for the still dark morning, "I was dreaming, it's nothing."

Harry's hand came up and tentative fingers traced a path over Draco's boney shoulder and then down his chest and along the corrugated map of his ribcage. He allowed Harry's fingers to wander, feeling his cock harden at the knowing touch that traced aimless circles over his chest, lingering on his nipples and moving along to his armpit and then his arm.

 _Stay with Potter._

Yes. Stay with Harry. Never leave Harry. Draco gasped as Harry came up to him and wrapped his warm wet mouth around his nipple. Harry's hand slid up his thigh caressed his erect cock and the last shreds of his dream fell away from him as he fell back into the bed and Harry slid down his body to take his cock deep into his throat.

"Harry…"

Harry sucked him gently, having learned what Draco wanted, and what Draco liked. Harry had learned how to please Draco and Draco alone, because Harry was his and his alone.

His Harry – and no one else's.

Each morning as Draco woke up he realized over and over again the sense that his entire being now contained the one constant that he felt he had always lacked. He could only look back with awe on his life before Harry and wonder how he had ever lived without it. What had his world been without these feelings? What had his life been before he loved Harry? It was difficult to remember. It was as though he knew things from his past, but he could no longer view them without the taint of this overwhelming love.

Draco moved his hands over Harry's back, drawing him up and rolling him into the bed. He flipped Harry over onto his belly, enjoying the sensation of handling Harry's body, relishing the solid feel of skin and bone and muscle and flesh. He gently pulled Harry's hips up and pressed a finger into his body.

Harry mewed. It was a small sound; one that Draco was certain was unique to Harry and one that Draco had come to love hearing. It held the promise of pleasure, it told of Harry's enjoyment, and it promised more. He almost laughed and wondered what Crabbe and Goyle would think if they were still alive. What would have happened if Draco could have predicted it; if one day he would have Harry Potter on all fours with his arse in the air mewing like an expectant kitten?

They would probably have thought he'd be doing it as some kind of punishment.

"Do you like that baby?" Draco insinuated another finger into Harry's body and a sob wrenched from Harry's throat. He gently stroked Harry's lower back, soothing him, willing the muscles to relax.

"Fuck me," Harry sobbed and Draco smiled. He slid his hand around Harry's body, skirting over the sharp hipbone and across Harry's stomach to grasp Harry's hard cock.

"You're still tight baby, I don't want to hurt you."

"No…fuck me…"

"Harry…"

But Harry's body was slowly relaxing into Draco's touch and his fingers began to move in and out with greater ease. He moved in behind Harry, pushing Harry's knees further apart and lifting his hips a little higher. Harry tensed at the anticipation and Draco sank into the heat of Harry's body.

 _Oh sweet fuck…_ "Harry…" His name came out in a rush of breath and he plunged hard and deep into the willing body beneath him. It was too hard, too fast. Harry cried out and suddenly his face was pushed into the pillows as Draco bore down into him.

"Oh Gods, you're too tight." The heat and pressure was unrelenting. So good and yet so close to pain that it was difficult to tell the difference. Draco watched Harry's hands claw at the sheets, his face was turned to the side and his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched. It was as though Harry was undergoing some kind of exquisite torture, and only his throbbing cock gave any indication that he was indeed enjoying it.

Draco gripped Harry's hipbones and pulled Harry back onto him, driving deeply into the heat, burying himself inside Harry's body. "You like that, don't you."

Harry nodded, his breath coming painfully to his chest, his body being driven so hard into the mattress that he had to brace himself. "Yes…yes. I…yes…"

"You are mine," Draco thrust a little harder, punctuating each word with a thrust deeper and harder than the last. "You. Are. Mine." Harry was agreeing, crying out _'yes'_ over and over again and Draco could feel himself pushing through the last of Harry's resistance, relishing the final warming of muscles that seemed to almost draw him deeper inside. He reached around Harry's body and stroked Harry's cock with rough strokes, unable to be gentle, not now, not when he was so close to the edge.

And Harry liked this. Harry liked this uncontrolled passion.

It was like an addiction, this intense need for each other. The feel of each other's bodies, the desire to give each other pleasure, and the exquisite pain that tainted their sex. Harry came over Draco's hand and the rumpled bedclothes and Draco rode him through it, until suddenly he was coming himself, a stream of pure energy charging through him, down his spine, massing in his balls and finally exploding, causing every nerve and fiber of his body to come to attention and tingle all over – and then he was empty and hollow and falling against Harry's body.

They collapsed into the bed, not caring about the cold wet patch left behind by Harry's orgasm. They both rolled onto their backs and lay panting, staring at the ceiling, both amazed that it was still dark.

"That was incredible," Draco panted, "oh fuck Harry, when I think of all those years we wasted."

Draco called for light and rolled onto his side, knowing he had to tend his lover.

 _Stay with Potter._

Yes, I'll stay with Harry.

Harry had taken on the vulnerable look that he often had after sex, as though afraid of some imagined rejection. Draco shifted and gently traced patterns in the sweat beading on Harry's chest. He kissed Harry's eyelids, flicking the tip of his tongue along the silky brush of lashes and then down the arch of Harry's nose until their mouths met in a lush and sated kiss.

 _Stay with Potter._

I'll stay with Harry

 _There is nothing of me left to save._

Draco tried to put the thought out of his head, tried to make his fathers voice go away.

And he almost cried when he realized it was easy.

Hermione sprawled across the floor, biting her lip and blood splattered across the cover of a book.

A book to hammer witches,

 _Hammer witches._

Oh Gods, no, shit, no please.

A boot was grinding into her back, and her wrist was breaking.

 _"YOU FUCKING BITCH. YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER THAN ME. YOU THINK YOU ARE SO PRETTY, FLAUNTING YOURSELF AROUND THE SCHOOL, BUT YOU ARE UGLY. YOU ARE AN UGLY MUDBLOOD CUNT AND YOU THINK YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR ME? LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME, LOOK AT WHAT YOU MAKE ME DO!"_

Then a boot connected with the base of her spine and Hermione tore herself from the dream, screaming loud into the cold air of the room.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Snape gasped, jerking himself awake at the sound of the terrified shriek. His eyes rolled in his head and he almost rolled over and let Hermione sleep through it. But Hermione's nightmares were a little too real of late; a little too real to ignore. He struggled to keep his eyes open and looked at her, sitting up in the bed breathing hard, her pale back heaving in front of him.

He sat up and gently stroked Hermione from behind. She seemed to go limp then and collapsed back into the tangle of his limbs.

"It's alright," Severus murmured into her hair, "it was only a dream." But it was more than a dream and he knew it. Part of him wanted to heal her mind in such a way that she would never recall the attack again. It seemed so ridiculously unfair that she had managed to survive Voldemort intact and without the nightmares that Dumbledore claimed plagued Potter, only to have her sense of well being taken away by such a worthless cretin as Viktor Krum. It seemed like such a _shitty_ hand that fate decided to deal her and he had been tempted to Obliviate the entire incident from her mind, or draw it out into a Pensive and bottle it forever.

Anything to make her forget. Anything to make her sleep soundly at night. Because when she slept, the bravado that got her through her days slipped, and she became the uncertain girl he had uncovered.

"I'm sorry," Hermione sobbed into his chest, her body melting into him, needed to return to sleep, feeling safe now that she knew he was there.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I woke you up." She pulled back and looked at him, and couldn't help but smile. Morning was not Severus Snape's best time of day. Heavy hair fell over his gaunt face, which looked a little ashen due to the shriek that woke him. His hawk like nose jutted out from those curtains of hair and what she could see of his black eyes were tired and sleep logged. He stifled a yawn and pulled her back into the pillows with him.

"It doesn't matter," he said, but he was already sinking back into sleep, "you can wake me up any time."

"Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"If he had…raped…me, would you still love me?"

His eyes blinked open and rolled to survey what he could see of the top of her head. "Of course I would, what kind of a stupid question is that?"

"I…I wouldn't have been a virgin…"

Now that was ridiculous. He had been amazed that she'd been one!

"I don't want to go to court." She said quietly and Snape sat up again, looking down on her with a face that was half concern and half disbelief.

"You have to go. If you don't he'll be pardoned and sent back to Bulgaria."

"I don't want to see him again."

He muttered "Lumos" and the roomed infused with light. "Hermione, you don't seem to understand, if he goes back to Bulgaria, there is nothing to stop him coming back here. If you don't go to the Wizengamot they will pardon him."

"He won't come back here though. Hogwarts is safe." She pushed herself up, staring at him and drawing the covers up over her breasts.

"But you can't stay here forever! In less than six months you will be finished here and you won't be coming back. I can ward the Fenn for you, but he's a Wizard Hermione, not a Muggle. He will be able to find you."

She trembled. The very idea of leaving Hogwarts was frightening, the idea that Krum could find her was terrifying, but so was the idea of going to court. What if no one believed her?

"Dumbledore sits as the head of the Wizengamot Hermione, he is not going to let Krum go…but you must attend or there is nothing he can do."

She looked away, her eyes glassy, and nodded silently. Snape seemed satisfied by that and he settled down beside her again, extinguishing the light and holding her close. Then something dawned on Hermione, something he had said.

"Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"When you said you could ward the Fenn for me, what did you mean?"

Snape frowned, _what did she think he meant? The meaning was simple, was it not?_ "I can cast wards around the Fenn, to try and keep you safe," he explained plainly. For such an intelligent girl, she really could be very thick sometimes.

"Does that mean I'll be at the Fenn, after school is over?"

Oh…. _OH!_ "I…" he felt a little flustered and was grateful that he had put out the light, she might not be able to see just how panicked he was suddenly looking. "I just assumed…I suppose you…"

The idea was ludicrous and he knew it. What would she do at the Fenn? _He_ didn't even live at the Fenn! _Then perhaps it is time for that to change._

Hermione moved and propped herself up so that she was looking down on him. "I love you," she whispered, and found his mouth with hers.

*************

The muscles in the Angel's arms and legs were becoming more pronounced. Nothing like they would have been, had he been a normal walking person, but still, the wasting process appeared to have halted. There was even definition where there was once nothing but wasting muscle. The transformation was no doubt a by-product of his nightly visits to the pool.

Semeuse had decided to give up the pretense of going back to the traveling exhibition, leaving the Aurors and the Elves to deal with the crowds, he declared that his museum needed him, especially now that he had custody of his Angel.

Lucius was his. The Angel would never have to be returned. Semeuse had fast discovered the value of the Galleon in Fudge's Ministry, and now he owned his very own Angel.

And very soon he would have a matching set.

"Time for a swim Lucius." Semeuse traced the outlines of the Angels soft lips with his fingertip. Lucius opened his eyes and for a moment his grey eyes were clear. "Good morning Lucius, I trust you slept well."

Lucius blinked again and Semeuse felt a tension in the bruised cheek beneath his palm.

"Would you like to go and have a swim?"

Lucius looked panicked and Semeuse looked in awe as the face changed for the first time without first being prompted to do so.

"Well, we could stay here and make love, but I do so like it when you have your arms and legs around me, you are so much tighter that way."

Not that Lucius really needed to be tighter, Semeuse tore him often enough as it was. The Curator lay down beside Lucius and kissed his jaw, running his tongue down the sharp bone. "I love you Lucius. I love you more than any single thing that has ever crossed my path. You are my one joy," He smiled and stroked the Angels pale cheek, "you are my only joy."

"Well," Lucius said clearly, "you really are a pretty sad fuck then aren't you?"

Semeuse almost fell off the bed in shock. "Lucius?"

Lucius was silent. He didn't move, as though he had never said a word and Semeuse wondered if perhaps he had imagined it. He brushed his lips lightly over the cheekbone that had healed perfectly. Even the dark bruise that covered it could not detract from his Angel's beauty.

"Then, it's time for a swim?"

Still nothing, just that impassive face.

"I have a wonderful Valentine's gift for you Lucius. Not as wonderful as the mirror, but I do think you will like this a little more." He struggled from the bed and wondered just what the Angel had reduced him to. He had begun to hate the sound of his own voice as he pandered to the Angel's affections; it was ridiculous, and yet he could not help himself. Lucius was indeed everything to him. There had once been a time when Archibald Semeuse would never have been seen without every hair in place, without his robes being perfectly pressed. Now he loathed getting dressed, preferring his nightshirt, or nothing at all. He preferred to spend his days with Lucius.

He showered Lucius with gifts, seeking something, some kind of response from his love – and the resounding silence never failed to disappoint. It hadn't always been this way. There had been a time when he preferred his lovers still – and now that he owned this one, he craved his movement.

Semeuse brought the gift forward and smiled at Lucius as he noticed the tiny movements of the Angel's eyes. He had learned to find even the smallest of movements, a twitch, a muscle spasm, or the almost indefinable movement of his eyes.

"I had this made especially for you; I saw a Muggle with one." Semeuse pulled back the cloth to reveal a chair, ornately carved from polished wood, and padded for comfort. Two large spoke wheels dominated the sides, with two smaller ones at the front.

"Muggles call them wheelchairs; they're ugly things, so I had this one made for you. Now you can see the museum. This is your home now Lucius, you should know its corridors."

Lucius stared on, his eyes flicking over the chair and then they settled on Semeuse, who was moving towards him, then lifting him into the chair.

Semeuse rolled the chair back and forth, it moved easily and the craftsmanship was good. It also made moving Lucius a little easier. He decided it was time to give his Angel a tour of the museum, before going to the pool.

"Don't go, it's Sunday for Merlin's sake," Draco reclined into the pillows and raised a seductive eyebrow, "besides, it's Valentine's Day. We can stay in bed, reek of sex…give me half an hour and I'll be ready to go again."

Harry grinned at his lover who was looking well sated and more than a little bed mussed in the pillows. "I have cum running down my leg, I need a shower."

"Oh yes, and a nice trail of semen running down your leg is really going to go over well in the bathroom."

 _True._

"Just get a towel and wipe it off, it's never bothered you before."

Which was also true, except that Harry's Valentine's Day gift for Draco was in Hermione and Lavender's room and Harry needed an excuse to leave the room so that he could go and get it; he wanted to give it to Draco at breakfast – which meant he had to shower anyway, and so did Draco.

"I feel gross," Harry said, lying admirably, "I really want to get cleaned up."

Draco looked more than a little miffed that his seductive self hadn't worked, "fine, go and wash away every trace of me."

"I don't want to wash away every trace of you! Where the fuck did that come from?"

Draco pouted and Harry crawled back up the bed and kissed him on his swollen mouth. Gods he felt amazing.

"I'm still having a shower."

Draco grinned and teased Harry's upper lip with his tongue, "well, be sure to say _'fuck off'_ to Weasel for me."

"I'll make sure I relay that message on for you."

"Thanks."

Harry scrambled from the bed and grabbed Draco's black bathrobe from the peg on the wall. He still hadn't been out to purchase new clothes, Dumbledore's ban on them leaving the castle had put paid to that idea. He hadn't even been able to buy Draco a gift himself, and he'd entrusted Hermione with that task. Harry now found himself increasingly dressed in Draco's clothes, more from the desire to not to cause Draco to whine about the state of his attire than actually wanting to look like a walking fashion plate.

Of course Draco was considerably taller than Harry, so Harry still looked a little lost in his clothes. He wrapped himself in Draco's bathrobe, belting it tightly before heading to the door.

"You have a wet patch on your arse."

Harry craned his head around to try and see the back of himself, "errg," he patted his bottom with his hand and felt for wetness, "oh, Yuk!"

"Come back to bed."

"No, I need to get this cleaned up. Fuck Draco, how much to you bloody squirt up there?"

 _Squirt?_ "The regular amount!"

"Oh Gods, this is disgusting!"

"Well thank you for that assessment of my seminal fluid!"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe I should fake an orgasm next time, then you won't have of that nasty stuff up your little arse…"

"I'm not saying that…"

"Or better yet, just stop fucking you altogether, then you won't have to worry about any of it."

Harry paled, "Don't…don't even joke about it."

"Who says I'm joking?"

"I…" Harry's eyes became instantly glassy, "I'm sorry, I…"

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"I was joking you scar headed git."

"Oh." Harry grinned uncertainly, "I knew that."

"Go and have a shower."

Harry grinned, turned and wiggled his arse for the sake of his lover before heading off to the bathroom, he had actually walked into the showers when he suddenly remembered…wet patch, and quickly grabbed a towel.

Seemingly, most of the towers occupants had decided to shower early before descending on the Great Hall for breakfast and gifts, then on to Hogsmeade for Valentine's dates and the waiting arms of various girlfriends. Harry walked into the midst of them, trying to mind his own business and hoping no one would speak to him. He clenched his butt together, trying desperately to stop the flow down his leg and was grateful when he felt it reach the back of his knee and stop.

"Bum's to the wall boys, Potter's here!"

Laughter rippled through the bathroom and Harry stopped in his tracks. He bowed his head and felt his cheeks burning with shame. _Just ignore him, he's seriously fucked up, just ignore him._

It was easier said than done, Ron appeared to believe that he had won some kind of victory by Harry's silence and continued to crow. "What's wrong Harry?" he asked gleefully, "don't feel like copping a feel this morning?"

Harry sighed and turned and glared. The laughter stopped and he wished that he could recognize shame on at least a few people's faces. Most just looked a little frightened, as though they were concerned about what Harry Potter would do to them for laughing about his sexual preferences. They also seemed very eager to see what happened next, as their eyes darted between Harry and Ron, anticipating a fight.

 _Typical. We spend half our lives fighting for these people, and now they just want to see us destroy each other._

Ron was too far gone to stop himself. He had taken a hit of Angelina's drug only minutes before coming to the bathroom and was still riding high on the crest of euphoria. Nothing was going to stop him now. He was right, he was good…and Harry wouldn't fight back, he never did.

"That's what you'd like to do, isn't it Harry? Wait until people are alone in the showers and then you can grab them? Molest them?" Ron smirked, "Well, at least that's what you tried to do last night, isn't it?"

"That is not what happened and you know it," Harry said ominously.

"Really? Well, that's how I remember it! I was in the shower, you turned up and grabbed me…remember?"

 _Oh dear Merlin, the guy is seriously deranged._ "Yeah," Harry hissed, "I remember pretty clearly, which obviously you don't. You were sitting in the shower stall crying like a fucking baby!"

Ron's eyes narrowed and the realization that perhaps he was in trouble filtered through the drug haze.

"Why don't you take you take the bathrobe off Ron?" Harry asked, "Why don't you show everyone just what I was trying to grab?"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Ron asked, but his venom faltered, "You'd love to get another look."

"Yeah," Harry folded his arms, "I would. I'm pretty sure everyone else might find it a pretty interesting sight too."

Ron forced a laugh, "Not everyone is a sick fuck like you. You just want what you can't have."

Harry almost laughed. He certainly couldn't stop the incredulous smile that spread across his features. "Have you actually seen my boyfriend?" Harry asked with some amazement, noticing how Ron flinched when he said the word _'boyfriend'._ "Have you actually had a really good look at him? Why the hell would I jeopardize that to go after your sorry arse?"

He didn't wait for Ron's reply, as the barrage of abuse came amongst laughter from Neville, Harry turned and left the bathroom. His shower could wait, so could retrieving Draco's gift. Draco was right, it was Sunday, it was Valentine's Day and Draco was in bed, warm and reeking of sex. Harry knew where he would rather be.

*******************

Semeuse sat at the edge of the pool and watched as Lucius floated towards the center of the pool. It was, as always, a pleasure to watch. The thick blonde hair fanned out, curling like thick tendrils in the water, like some kind of wild deep-sea plant, something of extreme beauty. Once Semeuse had feared that the Angel might sink if he was not close by, but he soon realized it to be a needless worry. Lucius, it seemed, could float for hours. What made the Curator's heart sing was the fact that Lucius seemed to like it. He would drift, and then suddenly, would change direction, carving intricate circles through the water. Semeuse watched him, marveling at the way he seemed to glide, as though sensing a momentary freedom from a body that simply would not function as he wanted it to.

Finally, unable to contain himself, Semeuse clapped his clever Angel. "Wonderful Lucius, a wonderful gift for me."

Lucius stilled, until the only thing moving him were the soft ripples on the water. The Curator sighed, removed his nightshirt and dove into the pool without hesitation.

He knew exactly how it would work. There were rudimentary things that needed to be done before he would have the pleasure of his Angel's arms around him. It wouldn't take long, Lucius learned quickly that he could save himself the struggle by coming to his savior and holding on tight.

He was so beautiful

Semeuse held him under, waiting for the struggle to begin, and when it did he smiled as hands began to flail, desperately seeking something that would save him. Semeuse held him under, keeping him there a moment longer than necessary, before pulling him to the surface.

Lucius drew breath harshly, his eyes wildly alert, and then he was plunged back under the water.

And then Semeuse lost hold of him, although how it had happened Semeuse did not know. Lucius clawed at the hand holding his head, scratching just that little bit too deep and Semeuse released him, but only for a second. It was enough. Semeuse looked around himself, desperately trying to seek the Angel out, a horrific though coming to him that the Angel had sunk; that he had drowned!

Lucius resurfaced some meters away and stared, shivering, at his would be lover. Semeuse felt his throat run dry. Lucius was treading water perfectly.

 _He is a clever Angel._

"Lucius, stay where you are." Semeuse made his way towards the Angel and Lucius gave one last defiant stare, before turning and swimming with perfectly measured strokes, away.

 _Very clever indeed._

"Lucius, where do you think you can go? Your body will tire before you even get out of the water."

Lucius kept swimming for the edge of the pool.

"Accio wand." The Curators wand flew to his hand and he pointed it at Lucius, not wanting to use it, but knowing it was for the Angel's own good as much as it was his. _"LUCIUS, STOP NOW!"_

Lucius reached the edge of the pool and was reaching up, trying to grasp the ledge. Semeuse doubted he'd have the strength to pull himself up – and he didn't want to risk the damage if Lucius should fall back in and hurt himself.

 _"LUCIUS!"_

Lucius began to pull himself up.

 _"STUPIFY!"_

Lucius slipped back into the water, and sank like a stone.

*******************

Ron stared down at the red envelope that had just landed in his breakfast and cursed the unfamiliar owl that had delivered it. He brushed it off and turned it over a few times. A part of him hoped against hope that it was from some wonderful faceless girl, but deep down he knew it wasn't. There would be no secret admirer for Ronald Weasley, not this year. Only Angelina.

He didn't want a Valentine's Day card from her, and he didn't want a gift. He could send it back unopened and ignore it, as though it had never arrived. He knew he could do that, but he also knew he wouldn't.

He looked over at Harry who was opening a neatly wrapped box. Malfoy was beside him, using the opportunity of Harry's attention being drawn away to give Ron a sneer. It appeared that Harry had given him a book and he looked none to pleased about it – although to Harry he was all smiles. Harry was looking good. Relaxed and happy. With Malfoy on one side and Hermione on the other. Hermione had a gift of her own, and she was unwrapping it with deliberate slowness, as though lost in the texture of the ribbon between her fingers. She looked as Harry did; happy.

He wondered for a moment just who had made Hermione happy, but the feeling was cut short because Harry kissed Malfoy and Ron almost dropped his envelope. Kissing Malfoy. In the Great Hall. It was too sickening to contemplate. Kissing Malfoy anywhere was a disgusting prospect, but in public was unforgivable.

For the first time, Ron decided he should actually look at Malfoy. Harry's lover. He still looked the same arrogant prick he had always looked, but if he was to look at Malfoy as a prospective lover as opposed to his enemy, Ron would have to concede that Malfoy was actually quite good looking. But he looked too much like his father, and watching Harry kiss him was akin to watching Harry kiss Lucius Malfoy and that was akin to watching Charlie die all over again.

Harry caught his eye and frowned. Ron looked away and tore open the envelope without thinking. A ring fell out and he fumbled to catch it. It glittered and slid down his pinky, as though charmed to do just that. He looked at it, wrapped around his finger, the diamond sparkling, sickeningly familiar.

A wedding ring. Her wedding ring. _Shit._

He made to slide it off and found it stuck fast. So it had been charmed to find its place – and now he was stuck with her wedding ring on his finger. A thick ball of heat began to form in the pit of his stomach and he felt his heart begin to beat a little harder. He reached into the envelope and his fingers were met with something sharp. He hissed and pulled his hand out quickly, his fingers bleeding. Another feeling washed over him, familiar bliss. He looked in the envelope to find a small needle, undoubtedly coated with Angelina's concoction. He could smell it. Hell, he could feel it!

But this was different. Along with the bliss came something else. Guilt. Remorse. Something that made his eyes water and his stomach twist with anxiety.

He pulled the letter out and opened it with trembling hands.

 _"Dear Ronnie_ __

 _I have enclosed my wedding ring, for it is truly yours. You made me love you and so you deserve the ring, and I have no doubt it suits you better._ __

 _In my first year Professor Snape gave us a speech about bottling fame and brewing glory. I have no doubt he gave the same speech to you; he does it to all first years. What he didn't tell you is that you can also distill malice, bottle guilt, and brew depression. You can make a potion so powerful that there is no antidote, no cure. In short, you can create revenge in liquid form._ __

 _You have been a very good subject Ron and if things had been different, I think I could have loved you. But for now, you should be feeling the effects of my latest creation, it is my final gift to you. You may need it in the end._ __

 _I had to tell George about us, as I couldn't live with myself. I told him everything, how you seduced me, how you wanted me to leave him so that I could be with you. He was devastated of course. The last I heard of him, he was cursing your name. I can't be with you Ron, I can't be with either of you. I'm sorry. I can only wish you luck._ __

 _All my love_ __

 _Angelina"_

Ron dropped the letter and it burst into flames. George knew. George knew everything.

Which meant that his family knew everything. Which meant his mother knew everything. Instinctively Ron looked to the rafters for an owl carrying the inevitable Howler. There was nothing there.

 _Distill malice, bottle guilt, brew depression._

Yes, it was there, he could feel it. Not strong enough to override the all-consuming panic that was coursing through him, but it was there.

He had to talk to George, he had to try and explain. He had to go to London.

***********************

Harry realized as he sat at breakfast that he had not quite got the hang of gift giving. Well, not Draco Malfoy style anyway. Harry had grown accustomed to buying one gift, one gift for each person – Draco it seemed had no idea of the concept. Either that or he just loved to give Harry presents, which was entirely possible.

It hadn't helped that neither of them had been able to leave the castle to do any shopping, and that he had entrusted the buying of Draco's gift to Hermione – someone that he and Ron had once notoriously dubbed the Worst Gift Giver in the History of the Wizard World. In retrospect, he should have asked Lavender to go, that way his single pathetic gift to Draco would have been far more suitable – and no doubt far more, well, Valentiney.

Hermione had given Snape a book on Potions for Christmas for Merlin's sake. What had he been thinking? Asking _Hermione_ to buy a Valentine's gift!

To Draco's credit, he was looking very enthused about a pretty lousy gift. He had a bunch of cards from admirers promising untold pleasures if he would only come back to the right team (he discarded those almost instantly), and much to Harry's chagrin, there was another gift there.

But Draco opened Harry's gift first and was smiling with elaborate falseness.

"Wow…that's…great...Honey, just what I've always wanted."

"And so _romantic_." Lavender added, staring with the absolute amazement that Draco seemed incapable of displaying.

Harry was staring at the gift, flabbergasted, and he had to fight the urge to turn to Hermione and ask her exactly what the hell she was thinking when she chose that. Harry had suggested jewellery. A new cloak clasp perhaps, maybe one of those nice platinum rings they had looked at the last time they had gone into the village. This was supposed to be his symbol of love, a sign of his undying affection. This was supposed to be the gift that told Draco that their bond was forever. This was their first Valentine's Day, the first Valentine's Day that Harry had ever spent with someone he truly loved, and this was the gift that was supposed to show this.

This was an ugly green book entitled _'727 easy steps to passing your NEWTS'._

"Um…" Harry laughed nervously, "I…um…there's a card too…"

At least he had written the card himself.

Draco set the book aside and opened the envelope. The card was simple and red, no picture adorned it, Hermione thought it looked 'masculine' and although Harry thought the idea ludicrous, he did like the card. It had been blank inside, so he had been able to write his own inscription.

 _"Draco_ __

 _I have spread my dreams under your feet_ __

 _Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams_ __

 _I love you_ __

 _Harry"_

Draco smiled and reached out to gently stroke Harry's cheek, unconscious for a moment of the Great Hall and the people filling it. "I'll try," Draco whispered softly and shoved his first gift at Harry, "now open yours."

A crystal ball, a silver ring, a rather ferocious pewter figurine of a Dragon that breathed real fire – these were only the warm up acts to what Draco called his master piece. It had taken several weeks of begging, pleading and then, sheer blackmail. Harry opened the final box and pulled out a round bottle of scent.

"Oh my God. You got Severus Snape to make me aftershave?"

Draco looked aghast. "If you splash that on like after shave, I will kick your arse!"

"Then what do I do with it?"

"Well," Lavender said, eyeing the bottle as though it was filled with liquid gold, "technically it's a perfume, so you should put it on the pulse points. Can I smell it?"

Harry opened the bottle and they all leaned in.

"The man is a genius," Lavender murmured, "Can you smell that? It smells like you Harry, only better."

"It smells like skin," Hermione said quietly, "I can't work out how he makes them smell like the person's actual skin."

"Hair, I think, he would have to use something that is personal to you to get the essence. Gods, it's amazing."

Harry rolled his eyes, although he had to admit, it was pretty good. The scent did indeed smell like him, as though he had just had a shower and his skin was clean and wet, but there were other things there, flowers, herbs, and some kind of spice. As though Snape had somehow managed to bottle not only Harry's unique smell, but also his very being.

"I'll say again, you got Snape to do this? For me?"

"Actually, it was for me." Draco grinned, "I had to beg though, he wasn't too happy about it, but, as they say, only the best for my man."

"I bet he just _loved_ making it."

Draco laughed, "You should have seen his face when I asked him."

"Grin a mile wide?"

"Oh yeah, and then some!"

"Slimy old git."

"HEY!" Hermione frowned and Harry winced.

"Sorry 'Mione, I…um…forgot." Although how that was possible he did not know. His beautiful 'Mione, sleeping with that old buzzard.

Who she loved, and he should never forget that.

"Did he get you a present?"

"Yep." Hermione smiled serenely.

"And?"

She pushed the box to Harry who opened it and his eyebrows shot up in wonder. It was a globe, with miniature people walking through what looked like Diagon Alley, but it could have been two hundred years ago, and it was snowing. A tune twinkled along and the globe turned merrily. It was so simple, a music box, but so perfect.

 _So Snape knows how to be romantic. Color me amazed._

He could only wonder what Hermione had got for Snape – a box of glass phials perhaps? "That is really pretty," Harry mumbled and wished he'd sent Snape to get Draco's gift.

He picked up the card Draco had written for him

 _"Give me ever the years you wept inside when cold_ _  
_ _All the sins and secrets never cried_ _  
_ _All the dreams you kept and the tears you sold_ _  
_ _Give me_ _  
_ _Give me ever and always_ _  
_ _Ever and always_ _  
_ _Body and soul_ __

 _Your heart_ _  
_ _Your mind_ _  
_ _Your body and soul"_

Harry found Draco's mouth and crushed their lips together. His tongue ran and slippery path along Draco's teeth, nudging them apart and seeking out Draco's own tongue.

It was as though time in the Great Hall stood still and Lavender looked around at all the gaping faces. She nudged Draco in the ribs. "Can you two stop that, you're turning me own."

Harry flushed bright red and excited, "sorry."

***********************

"It's a very…interesting…gift Severus."

Snape gave one last bemused look at his new calendar before closing it. It was remarkably bright in his room, and when opened, it was horribly loud, calling out "inspirational" comments that supposedly would help him along in his life. Sayings such as "Start each day in a happy way."

 _So she isn't particularly creative in the gift-giving department – but she does other things extremely well._ He smirked.

"That is a very wicked grin Severus; I do hope you are keeping your mind on your work."

"It is Sunday Headmaster; I believe I am allowed to relax for a moment."

"Indeed. In fact I would like to see you relax for far more than a moment." Dumbledore watched Severus growing uncomfortable; his long fingers absently stroked the front of the calendar. In a strange way Dumbledore enjoyed it, seeing Severus with an expression that was not a scowl was a rarity, seeing him in love was even rarer. "How is Miss Granger?"

Snape arched an eyebrow. It was the first time Dumbledore had ever mentioned Hermione since learning of the relationship, and Snape knew there was no point denying anything. "Hermione is fine."

"No ill effects from her attack?"

"She has the occasional nightmare, nothing serious."

"Nothing you can't handle?" Dumbledore asked, his voice hovering between severity and amusement.

Snape smiled thinly, "nothing I can't handle."

Dumbledore sat down in the unoffered chair and glanced around the familiar corners of the Potion Master's office. The fire was burning merrily in the grate, something that surprised him. Hermione must prefer a fire to the warming charms that Snape usually cast around himself.

"I assume you are sharing your bed with her?"

Snape shifted in his chair and opened his mouth to answer, only to be horrified when nothing at all came out.

"I cannot condone this."

Snape regained his composure; "then perhaps you should have mentioned it a little earlier," he said silkily.

"Perhaps you should have practiced some restraint Severus."

Snape colored and looked away, "I…I did…she…"

"Easy Severus. I am not here to come between you, although I must ask that you practice a little more discretion here at the school," Dumbledore smiled to himself, "and please keep in mind that Argus still patrols the third floor corridor."

 _Oh dear God._

"So it might be an idea to confine your activities to your chambers."

"Yes Headmaster." Snape's complexion was looking decidedly strawberry in color; his black eyes were wide in horror of the fact that he had been seen, and by Argus Filch at that. Oh Dumbledore knew every sordid detail, Filch had been decidedly explicit.

"Come now Severus," Dumbledore said jovially, I did not come here to discuss your relationship with Hermione Granger and I can be guaranteed that if I say anything that causes a rift between you, Minerva will have my head on a platter."

 _And your balls for breakfast._

"Quite."

Snape flinched and reminded himself to be more guarded with his thoughts. As much as it irked him to think it, there were many similarities in the ways that he addressed Dumbledore and Voldemort. He had to be guarded with both and he knew it caused Dumbledore no end of regret. "What would you like to discuss Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled openly, "When are you going to stop being so formal Severus?"

"I'm sorry, force of habit.' Snape answered stiffly.

"I'm not here to belittle you Severus."

"I know that." He was in no mood to discuss his friendships and trust with Albus Dumbledore. He was fully aware of who his friends were, and he was aware that Dumbledore was one of them. He just simply wasn't a man used to maintaining friendships. Alliance, yes; friendship, no. He deliberately softened his tone, "what's on your mind Albus?"

"Mr. Archibald Semeuse."

Snape almost choked on his own spit. "The museum Curator?"

"Yes, you've met him I believe?"

"Yes – it was a while ago now." Snape closed his mind off as effectively as closing shutters on a window.

It was a subtle shift in Snape's mind, but Dumbledore could always detect it. He smiled serenely and allowed the Potions Master to keep his secrets.

"So what about him?"

Dumbledore conjured up a cup of tea and motioned for Snape to sit opposite him. "I told you once that I had heard his name before, but I couldn't place it?"

"Yes. Have you remembered something about him?"

"I have to admit, it troubled me and I had to look back into the records. Once I found the old clippings the whole story came back to me." He smiled, but found himself concerned about Snape's reaction to the coming news. "Many years ago, when he first took over as Curator of the museum, there was a scandal. Curator Semeuse wanted to start a human collection. At the time the Ministry was coming to the end of the Grindlewald trials. The idea of using Dementors to guard Azkaban was new, as was the idea of using the Dementors Kiss as a punishment. Curator Semeuse saw the victims of the kiss as an opportunity to amass a collection of human specimens for the museum."

"So this isn't the first time an exhibition like this has been on display?"

"Well not quite. The Ministry had every one of Grindlewalds followers kissed by Dementors, and there were some three hundred of them, but what the Ministry didn't count on was the lack of space to care for them. These people aren't dead and they do function, which means they require care, and the Dementors were not known for their ability to care for their victims. So, in another stroke of "brilliance", the Ministry decided to take Curator Semeuse up on his offer – but they took it a step further. They offered the prisoners up for sale to private collectors and sold them off. Curator Semeuse purchased five, which wasn't unusual, but then things took an unpleasant turn." Dumbledore produced several photographs and placed them in front of Snape.

"It appears that the Curator had a penchant for very specific types of specimens."

Snape spread the photographs out in front of him and felt his breath go. Five victims of the Dementors kiss. All male, all young, all beautiful and all blonde.

Snape trailed his fingers over the image of a man who seemed startlingly familiar.

"That," Dumbledore said quietly, "is Justinian Malfoy. Had he survived he would have been Lucius Malfoy's uncle."

The boy in the photograph could not have been any more than sixteen or seventeen.

"So what happened to them?" Snape asked, he felt numb.

"The Ministry removed them from his care and executed them."

"Why?" He didn't want to know the answer, he really didn't.

"It was discovered that the Curator was having sexual relations with his specimens."

"Sexual relations?" Snape knew what Dumbledore meant, he just needed to hear the words come out of his mouth, as if to confirm that it was true. He felt his stomach turn. "He raped them?"

"Well, that is where opinions differed. Technically, he owned them and he had the right to do as he chose with his own property. The families of the victims fought against this way of thinking of course, but the majority of people didn't really care what happened to these boys. The Ministry removed them from his care by way of proving that they did not agree with his actions. However, they did refund his money and he was never tried for it. After a few weeks the scandal died down and now it is barely remembered."

Snape looked down at the photographs, "and now he has a new collection…" his mouth dried and the image of Lucius, the only Death Eater not wired, looking drawn and pale and sitting in the corner of a glass case, came to his mind, "he has Lucius!"

"Yes, he has Lucius Malfoy." Dumbledore sounded troubled, "I received notice that Draco had petitioned the Ministry for his fathers return - and that it was denied."

"It's worse than that," Snape began to pace, "Semeuse countered the petition – Fudge awarded him custody!"

Dumbledore swore sharply and the sound of the word coming from the Headmasters lips stopped Snape in his tracks, as though the sound of it confirmed for him that things were indeed as bad as they seemed.

"How could Fudge have given this Semeuse a collection of Death Eaters, given his past?"

"Memories are short Severus, even I had trouble recalling it…and Fudge would have been a child when it all happened."

"So what now? If Fudge is told about Semeuse's past, surely he will reverse his decision and Draco can take Lucius home?"

"Don't ever over estimate Cornelius Fudge, you should know that by now Severus."

Snape looked away, grinding his teeth. He should just tell Dumbledore everything, at least then they might get some help with this.

"Severus…"

 _"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"_

"Severus, try to calm down."

"THAT MAN IS…FUCKING…"

"We don't know that!"

"What am I going to tell Draco?" Snape asked wildly. _Tell Albus, just tell him._

"Send Draco to me, I will talk to him."

Snape laughed bitterly, "Draco is not going to talk to you, he might be fucking Potter, but he still doesn't think like him."

Dumbledore had to concede that point, although he would not have put it so crudely. "Then perhaps Harry can talk to him."

"I'll tell him myself." Snape chewed on a thumbnail and muttered, almost to himself, "I have to get Lucius back."

"NO Severus, don't do anything against the Ministry. Fudge would like nothing better than to tie you to Lucius Malfoy somehow. I don't want to find myself staring at you in a glass case."

Snape swallowed hard. "I can't sit here and let this happen!"

"I will do what I can to get Mr. Malfoy out of his current predicament, but until such time, I ask you to sit back and wait until I know more. We don't know what the Curator is doing."

"We can make a pretty fucking good assumption!"

Dumbledore sighed, knowing that there was no point in reasoning with Severus when he was like this. "Perhaps this is not the best state of mind for you to be in when you speak to Draco."

Snape glared into the fire. He had to tell Draco something, just as he had to get Lucius out of the museum.

He had to find Regina Vermoral.

At the sight of his brother Apparating into Diagon Alley, Fred Weasley cast a look at George, who was blissfully headless in the fire, talking with their parents, and rushed out into the street. He knew Ron would come, as certainly as he knew what would happen as soon as George saw him.

And Fred wanted to hear Ron's version, wanted to hear it justified somehow.

"Fred…"

"Don't go in there," Fred warned, "if you know what's good for you, you won't go anywhere near him."

Ron looked desperate, craning his neck to see past Fred and into the shop. "I need to talk to him."

"He doesn't want to talk to you."

"Please…" Ron looked frantically around, people were stopping to stare, to see what all of the commotion was about. "Please Fred, I need to explain."

"Then explain." Fred wanted nothing more to hear the explanation and there was an ounce of hope in his voice. Hope that Angelina had lied and that somehow Ron was still Ron, loyal, lovable Ron. Fred looked his brother up and down. Noting how disheveled he looked, how downright unwell he appeared. Ron's face was a mask of desperation, he was sweating, and he smelled bad. Fred's eye caught something glittering on Ron's finger and stopped. He knew the ring well, as he'd seen it everyday for almost two years. He looked Ron in the eye and felt his heart plummet.

"I need to see George," Ron pleaded, unable to find the words to explain anything and hoping that they would come when George was finally in front of him.

Fred's eyes returned to the ring on Ron's finger, "So it's true then? Have you came to flaunt it? Come to make sure he feels that little bit worse?"

Ron looked at his finger, he had forgotten the ring! "I…No! It's stuck there, I can't get it off, she cursed it to stay there."

 _"DID YOU SEDUCE HER?"_

Ron frowned, trying to sift through the hazy layers of memory. It wasn't that simple, not so cut and dried as _'he seduced her,'_ but somehow he could not work out exactly why it was not so simple. He had seduced her, she told him he had. "Yes," he said reluctantly, "but I…"

There was really nothing else to say. He had seduced George's wife and that was all that really mattered. He watched Fred's face close off, shocked and stricken, but closed now to his youngest brother. He cared nothing for the fact that it hadn't been a simple process, he cared only that it had happened. NO amount of explaining was going to make this better. And what was there to explain anyway; he had done this, he knew he had. He had knowingly walked into it, had congratulated himself on his victory. He had thought only of himself and the Contract. An apology seemed a futile thing, like a consolation prize after taking everything someone held dear.

But he hadn't taken her – and he certainly didn't want her. If anything he hated her, and that was possibly worse, because George loved her and Ron had taken her anyway.

"Fred please," he tried to control his voice, tried to sound more like he was in control and that Fred was inconsequential, "it's complicated, I need to speak to George." Ron made to push past Fred, wanting only to see George and throw himself on his brother's mercy and beg forgiveness.

Fred shoved him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling into the street.

"I told you no! Now fuck off Ron."

"NO! Can I least try to explain?"

"Don't fucking start with me! Now fuck off!"

"I just want to tell him I'm sorry!"

 _"HE DOESN"T WANT TO HEAR IT!"_

Ron struggled up from the ground. He wanted to feel anger, anger with Fred for being so high handed, anger with Angelina for doing this, and anger at himself for being so pathetically weak. But nothing filled him but desperation. "I need to explain."

"Then explain," Fred said hotly, "just tell me how it is that you managed to convince your brother's wife that he was having an affair and that her fucking you was going to make it all better."

Ron stared at him and felt his eyes sting. Had it really been like that? So crude and base? Yes, he supposed it must have been. "I never wanted to hurt him…it never seemed like I was doing that…I didn't want to…I…"

But he had. If he had seduced her, he must have wanted to. Ron scratched absently at his arms and the bruises began to ache and cry out in thirst. _Oh Gods, not now, don't do this now._

"Go back to Hogwarts, and just fuck off out of our lives."

"I won't leave…" Ron said, he had begun to shake, "I won't go until I see him."

"Then you'll be waiting for a long time, he's gone to the Burrow." It was an easy lie, Fred knew George would be going to the Burrow as soon as he finished speaking with their parents. "Believe me, you don't want to go there."

No, Ron certainly did not want to go to the Burrow. Not yet. It was hard enough to do this without adding his mother's wrath into the mix – and he could hear the lie in Fred's voice. He knew George was still there. He made to push past Fred again and was stopped in his tracks as Fred jabbed him sharply in the pit of his stomach. Ron's eyes grew huge as every ounce of air seemed to be pushed from his lungs, his knees buckled and he sank to the ground.

"I said no," Fred muttered, staring at his brother who was now on his knees in the street. Ron's head was bowed and Fred watched what could have been water stream onto the cobble stones. For a moment he thought it might be spit or bile, but as Ron raised his face to stare up at him he realized it was tears. Ron's face was wet with them, as though he had submerged his face in a sink.

I…" Ron sucked air painfully into his chest, "I can make this right…"

George appeared in the doorway and Ron felt something like relief rush over him. George was there, still there, glaring at him with red eyes, his angry mouth no more than a slit in his face. "To make this right," George rasped, his voice sounding like he had been crying for a week, "you would need to get a Time Turner and go back and stand where you were supposed to stand during that battle."

 _And change places with Charlie_. "I…I can't," Ron whimpered. Fred shook his head and turned away, leaving them there, leaving him alone with George. There would be no buffer from his brother's wrath. "Time Turners don't go back that far," he said in a small voice.

"Well, " George said, hard, "I guess you're just fucked then."

********************

"Severus?" Hermione looked about the bedroom, knowing that he had come down here. She wanted to thank him for her gift. She wanted to throw him on the bed and give a Valentine's Day shag. She just wanted him.

But Severus was nowhere to be found. She wandered around the room. It was not familiar to her yet although she hoped that one day soon it would be. Dusty books on Angels had been replaced with Dusty books on Demonology and they seemed to be everywhere. She had to admire that about him, when he was interested in something he went to great lengths to learn every thing he could about it.

On the bed she found a note addressed to her.

 _"Hermione,_ __

 _I'll be out for a few hours. Do your homework._ __

 _Severus."_

She couldn't help but shiver at the fact that he sounded more like her father than her lover. Besides, she had already done all of her homework and although she could always study, she had hoped to spend the day with him. Well, at least until four o'clock, which was when Lavender decided that Hermione needed to get ready to go out to dinner – their first official date. She couldn't help but smile.

On the side board was a leather bound book that Severus was almost constantly reading from, and which he generally snapped shut whenever she got too close. She looked about, almost expecting him to appear simply because of the thought that had just run through her head. He did not appear however, and she sidled up to the book, casually opening the front cover, just a little.

 _'Lucius Armand Malfoy'_

She opened the book a little wider and found a photograph of a very young looking boy who could only have been Draco staring back at her, holding on to Draco was a very young looking Lucius Malfoy. She moved the photograph and looked at the name written there again. It was written a number of times, each time in a different style, as though he had been practicing his signature, the same way some one very young would when they were trying to decide on their own identity.

A journal, a never ending journal. Lucius Malfoy's never ending journal. But why was Severus reading it?

She opened the book, as close to the back as she could. The pages were deceiving, she could think she was on the last page and another would keep appearing. She slowly sank into a chair by the still warm fireplace and opened the book wide.

"What is Severus looking for?" she asked absently and suddenly the pages began to fly through her fingers at a pace she couldn't comprehend. Her eyes widened as the pages stopped as suddenly they started and she was looking down at a page full of symbols and incantations.

 _"Re'u kinn shame u tu'ame rabuti = VIPER_ __

 _1\. Invoke the Seven Gates._ __

 _Gate of Nanna is called SIN_ _  
_ _Gate of Nebo_ _  
_ _Gate of Inanna is called Ishtar_ _  
_ _Gate of Shamash is called UDDA_ _  
_ _Gate of Nergal_ _  
_ _Gate of Lord Marduk_ _  
_ _Gate of Ninib is called Adar._ __

 _2\. Invoke the Watcher_ __

 _Barra Ante Malda!_ _  
_ _Barra Angege Yene!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir Anna Kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir Kia Kanpa!_ _  
_ _Gaggamannu!_ _  
_ _No evil in the world or under it_ _  
_ _Over the world or inside the world_ _  
_ _May (words are obscured by an ink blot) here._ __

 _3\. Incantation against Dementors_ __

 _Destructive storms and evil winds are they_ _  
_ _An evil blast, herald of the baneful storm_ _  
_ _An evil blast, forrunner of the baneful storm_ _  
_ _They are mighty children, Ancient Ones_ _  
_ _Heralds of pestilence_ _  
_ _Throne bearers of Ninnkigal_ _  
_ _They are the flood which rushesth through the land_ _  
_ _Keepers of the kiss_ _  
_ _Stealers of souls_ _  
_ _Zi Anna Kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi Kia Kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir enlil la lugal kurbur ra ge kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir ninlil la nin kurkur ra ge kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir ninib ibila esharna he kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir ninni nin kurkurna ge kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir a nunna dingir galgalla e ne kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir Anna Kanpa!_ _  
_ _Zi dingir Kia Kanpa!"_

Hermione frowned, certain that for a moment she could hear a voice chanting the incantation over and over in her head. What it mean she did not know.

 _'Incantation against Dementors'_

She shuddered. Was it possible? And was this really what Severus was looking for – and if so, why? She quickly took a piece of parchment from Severus' desk and began to write out the incantations, deciding that if she was not to spend the day with Severus, then she may as well try to decipher a riddle for him.

Please go to part 2


	33. Perfect Day Part 2

_Chapter 14 - Part 2_

*********************

"Ginny!"

Ginny Weasley didn't break stride at the sound of her brother's voice. She had spent most of her Valentine's Day morning talking with first her father, then Bill, and then finally her mother. The one person she had no desire to talk to at the moment was Ron. Not until she had processed what had happened.

But Ron was running to catch her; she could hear his feet pounding up the stone floor behind her.

"Ginny, wait!"

"I don't want to talk to you right now Ron." She didn't break pace, she didn't look at him.

Ron hurried along beside her, breathing heavily. He must have run from Hogsmeade to the castle to find her, she knew he had been to see George, their mother had passed on that piece of information. "Have you spoken to George?" Ron asked hopefully, trying to sound unconcerned and nonchalant.

"No," Ginny sped up, "but I spoke to Dad, and Bill and Mum."

Ron struggled to keep up with her, his body singing out for him to just leave it and go and lie down somewhere quiet. "I can explain…"

"I doubt it."

"I can!" He tried to slide into the easy grin that had worked a thousand times with her in the past and she stopped and rounded on him, doing a double take at his appearance.

George must have gone to town on him, and from the looks of it Ron had done nothing to stop him. His lips was split and there was a nasty looking gash over his left eyebrow, His face was bruised. No more than he deserved – but still.

Then he tried the smile again and she felt fury overwhelm her; "You can explain? So fucking what?! Who fucking cares what you can explain? Don't you realize what you've done? Do you even care?"

"Y-yes of course I do, I just…"

"You just what?" She stopped for a moment as Ron swayed, she feared that he would fall over, land in a bundle at her feet, and then what? Did she leave him there, or did she help him? She realized then just how little she had seen of him in the past month. He was looking thin and drawn, and he smelled a little off.

He didn't fall down, and he made the mistake of thinking her silence was something like forgiveness, "You've got to help me with Mum."

"Help you with Mum? Are you fucking insane? I am not helping you with anything! You fucking selfish shit, all you ever think about is yourself. You have no fucking idea how pissed everyone is at you, and all you can think about is saving your own selfish hide!"

"I didn't mean…"

"OH SHUT UP!" Ginny's eyes blazed, "What where you thinking? How could you fucking do this to George? Mum says they had to get someone to come from St. Mungo's to sedate him!"

Ron had no answer. He had no idea what he had been thinking, he had no reason for his actions, only that he was, as Ginny said, a selfish shit. He scratched, feeling sweaty and hot, and his body ached. "Was Mum mad?"

Ginny glared at him in amazement, "I would say she was beyond 'mad' Ron! You destroyed her trust in you, you destroyed all our trust in you…you destroyed George's life!"

"I didn't mean to!"

Then what were you trying to do?"

"I…" Ron desperately tried to think, "I…don't…I don't know."

"You don't know? _YOU DON'T KNOW?_ Mum doesn't want to see you, no one does! I've never seen her so angry, she was screaming. She said you should have been out there instead of Charlie, that it's the same thing, that you changed places with him that day because of your own selfish reasons, and now you're destroying George for the same fucking reason. You should have died that day and none of this would have happened!"

Ginny was ranting, unaware of what she was saying, unaware that she was repeating what her mother had said in anger and haste. Ron's face drained of blood and a shiver ran through him.

"You're lying," he said, "Mum would never say that."

"She's not the only one thinking it," Ginny said bitterly, "I think you should just leave us alone."

"Oh…" Ron stepped back, "O…okay." He watched as Ginny turned and walked away from him, and wondered if she would ever walk back.

********************

Draco knocked and slipped into Snape's chambers. He looked a little damp, as though he had been outside in the rain, no doubt running around after Potter, or some other ridiculous pursuit.

 _Stupid boy._

"You'll catch a cold," Snape said with some disgust and wondered just when it was that he had started to sound like someone's nagging mother.

"Thanks _Dad."_

Or father. He really had to stop this. Soon he'd be counseling first years and his eyes would be twinkling behind half moon glasses. Not a prospect he relished.

"Well?" Draco asked, clearly not happy with being called away from fun with Potter, "you wanted to see me? Have you found something out?"

"You could say that," Snape answered uncomfortably.

Draco looked at him and his eyes widened. Snape looked as though he had done a few rounds with a mountain troll. A long gash ran across his cheek, he looked bruised and sore. "Wow, you really look like shit. I mean, you always look like shit, but now you actually look more like shit than usual!"

"Thank you Draco, I can ascertain that for myself."

"What happened?"

Snape wrenched a wriggling black sack from his cupboard and held it at arms length. He opened it and dumped its contents at Draco's feet. "This is what happened."

Draco stared in shock at the ball of fury on the floor of Snape's chambers. He'd never seen Non outside of the house before. Draco looked back at Snape and couldn't stop the grin from coming; "he really got the better of you eh?"

Snape glared.

"Quite powerful when they want to be," Draco continued, "amazing when you think about it."

"Yes, fascinating, now can we get down to business?"

Draco chuckled and crouched down on his haunches; "hello Non!"

"Master Draco!" Non straightened his pillowcase indignantly, "this man removed Non from the house!" He looked around nervously, taking in the dark corners of the chamber – a place he was not supposed to be. "This man walked in a took Non! You must believe Non, this man…"

"Non!" Draco said sharply, " Stop it. Professor Snape went to get you by my request."

Non's huge eyes opened a little wider, "But Master Draco, Non is not allowed here! Non will get in trouble for being here!"

Draco watched as Non looked around, looking for something with which to punish himself. He had already scratched rivulets of skin out of his arms and torn at his ears.

"Non, listen to me. You are allowed to be here, I forbid you to punish yourself for being here."

"Non can only take orders from Master Lucius."

Draco rolled his eyes. "My father is not able to give you orders and he is not coming back, so I am your Master now and you must obey me."

Non actually looked smug. "Master Lucius is very clever. Non knows. Master Lucius will come back."

Snape almost rushed at the elf, "has he found a way to come back?"

Non glared at Snape suspiciously.

"It's alright Non," Draco said anxiously, "Professor Snape is going to help us bring father back."

Non did not lose his suspicious glare. "Why would this man help Master Lucius?"

"Because he is a friend of father's."

"A friend who betrays Master Lucius?" Non asked triumphantly before turning his face to Snape. "I know you Severus Snape, I remember you when you were a sniveling brat who hung off Master Lucius' coat tails."

Draco looked up at Snape with alarm and watched the sneer curl up Snape's lip and his fist ball over the end of his wand. "Uncle Severus!"

Snape switched his furious eye to Draco.

"We need him, don't do anything to harm him."

Non actually looked ready to laugh.

"Uncle Severus is here to help us Non."

The elf did not look at all convinced.

"Oh for fucks sake Non, just tell me what the fuck Dad did or I will have you fitted for a nice velvet frock coat – you fucking little shit!"

"Non does not know what Master Lucius did."

"Then how do you know he'll be back?"

Non remained stubbornly silent.

"Who is Regina Vermoral?" Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Non's eyes widened and then narrowed, a smile played at his lips as he debated whether or not he could answer the question, finally he said, "Miss Vermoral is a Muggle."

"We know that," Draco said irritably, "Who is she? Does she have anything to do with this?"

"She is a friend," Non said carefully.

"Lucius' friend?" Snape asked and Non regarded him suspiciously again.

"She is his lover."

"A lover?" Draco asked, he sounded dubious.

"His _favorite_ lover. He _loved_ her."

Draco stepped back from the companion of his childhood and stared at him, horrified.

"He preferred her to all others," Non continued, happy to pursue this line of thought.

"You're lying."

"He preferred her to your mother."

Draco hit the elf, smacking him hard enough to knock him down. "Just shut up, shut your fucking mouth!"

Snape pushed Draco out of the way and grabbed Non by the front of his pillowcase. "Where can we find her? Where is she?"

"Non cannot tell _you._ "

"What about Draco? Can you tell Draco?"

Non smiled, and nodded.

Snape turned to Draco who was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands; "ask him."

"I don't want to know," Draco said sulkily.

 _"What?!"_

"He can rot in that body for all I care."

Snape couldn't believe what he was hearing and in an instant he almost dropped Non and hit Draco, instead he hauled Draco up from the floor and shook him. "Listen! I just went through hell bringing that wretch here, now just ask him the goddamn question!"

Draco grunted, his face looking pinched. "How could he have preferred a Muggle to my mother?"

"He didn't!" Snape began to shake him again, "he probably found something novel about her that made fucking her exciting – but he would have gotten sick of her in the end, he always did! You should know by now that House Elves put there own moral slant on everything!"

"Non doesn't lie."

"Draco!"

"Just forget about it, leave him where he is."

"I can't!"

"WHY NOT?" Draco cried fiercely.

 _"BECAUSE THAT CUNT OF A CURATOR IS RAPING HIM!"_

Oh dear, that really was not the way to tell Draco that piece of news.

Draco paled and he pulled away from Snape, stumbling over Non and landing hard on the floor. "He…no!"

"I'm sorry Draco, it wasn't supposed to come out like that."

"But…they have Aurors there, they are supposed to…" Draco turned to Non, "Where is Regina Vermoral?"

Non was looking a little pale himself at the news, he looked at Draco and blinked, absorbing what had just been revealed before saying; "Beyond the orangery, through the valley and across the river. There is a stone cottage, hidden in a grove near the long barrow."

"A long barrow? West Kennet? The Druids place?"

"Master Lucius said that the Druids buried their dead in that place."

"A stone cottage near the long barrow, that should be easy to find…and a Muggle would not be able to ward it."

"He fucked a Muggle." Draco sounded incredulous, troubled, as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes and suddenly his father was not the saint Draco had always supposed him to be. What confounded Snape was that Lucius' list of horrific deeds had been nothing to Draco; that his father had deemed to sleep with a Muggle forced the realization when nothing else could.

"He loved a…Muggle."

"I doubt it," Snape said plainly, "Lucius loved few people. You, your mother and himself."

"But Non said…"

"Non has no idea what Lucius was feeling, he is putting his own opinions forward."

"But, he did…fuck...her."

"So? Lucius _fucked_ a lot of people!"

Draco seemed to consider this and accept it. He stilled and looked up at Snape fearfully. "Is it true, about the Curator?"

"Probably."

Draco looked on the verge of tears. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. We need to find Regina Vermoral. Dumbledore is trying to have a word with the Ministry about Lucius."

"Dumbledore? What does he know about this?"

"He only knows about the Curator…actually, he told me about it." Snape helped Draco up from the floor and noticed that he could fit his hand around Draco's arm. "Do you have enough Navitas Serum?"

Draco nodded.

"You need to eat more or else it will be pointless."

"I know."

"Then do it," Snape looked at the stubborn face in front of him, so much like his father, "if you don't I shall be forced to tell Potter."

"Don't, I'll take care of it." Draco looked at Non. "What are you going to do with Non?"

"I think he'll be useful in the kitchens until we can get him home."

Draco smiled. Non looked mortified.

"What was in the other box?" Harry stood in the doorway of the bedroom, wet and muddy and looking exhausted. Draco looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow.

"Been watching Quidditch?"

"No, playing. What was in the other box?"

"We aren't allowed to play Quidditch. No eighth years, remember?"

"Yeah, it was a friendly, not part of the competition."

"How come I wasn't asked?"

Harry smirked, "because they wanted a Seeker who could actually _find_ the Snitch."

Draco scowled, refusing to be goaded; he looked away from Harry and deliberately returned to his book.

"So what was in the other box?"

"What box?" Draco asked crisply.

"At breakfast, you had another gift, what was it?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with."

"Who sent it to you?"

"No one."

"Are you pissed at me?"

"No."

"You are!"

"No I'm not."

"Why are you pissed off? Because I played Quidditch?"

"No."

"Oh good grief! It was a spur of the moment thing, I was in the Library with Hermione, and Ginny asked me if I wanted to play."

"How nice for you."

"Draco!" Harry gaped, unable to believe Draco was actually giving him the silent treatment. "Ok, I'm sorry. If it happens again I will insist that you get to play." He looked at the book Draco was reading; '727 Easy Steps to Passing your NEWTS'. "You really don't have to read that. I'll get you a decent present as soon as we can get out of the castle."

"It's alright, I like it."

"No you don't. It's a stupid gift!"

Draco nodded and smiled, "well, maybe…but you gave it to me so I guess I have to like it."

"So what was in the other box?"

Draco sighed, "You never give up do you?"

"Nope."

Draco reached into his robes and drew out a long heavy wound chain; at the end was a heart shaped locket. Harry felt his belly start to crawl at the fact that Draco was wearing it. This gift from some other person, worn close to his heart.

"It's beautiful," Harry said quietly, trying to hide the growing panic, "um…who sent it to you?"

"Snape sent it."

Harry frowned, "Snape? Why would Snape send you a locket?"

"Calm down. It was my mother's; Snape thought I might want it. This is the gift my father gave to my mother on their first Valentine's Day together."

 _Oh great, and I gave him a book on how to pass his NEWTS._

"It's charmed so that you can only put pictures in of the ones you hold most dear, the people closest to your heart."

"Have you looked inside?"

Draco blushed, "Well, no…not yet."

"Why?" Harry had assumed Draco would want to see whom his mother held dear, it was a certainty that Draco himself was one of them.

"My parents…" Draco smiled uneasily, "my parents had a lot of lovers. It wasn't that they were bored with each other, they just…liked…sex…I guess. I think I was always terrified of exactly who I would find in there."

Harry bent down and took the locket from Draco's hand. He opened the clasp and the locket unfolded itself, presenting them with three pictures inside. On the left was Lucius, Draco was on the right, and in the center was a picture of the two of them. Lucius was young, his hair shorter, and his cheek pressed against that of his infant son who was laughing at something unseen.

"You were a beautiful baby."

Draco snorted, "I look like a fucking girl!"

Harry began to laugh and then looked back at the photographs. When he was young, Lucius looked like Draco. Not a family resemblance; he was the spitting image.

Lucius Malfoy. All round bad guy. Harry's enemy. Everyone's enemy. Someone who, when seen through his son's eyes, Harry was starting to have a begrudging respect for.

"Your Dad looks really happy."

Draco's eyebrows shot up so fast they almost disappeared into his hairline. "Did you just say something almost nice about my father?"

Harry shrugged, "almost."

"I thought you hated him."

"Well," Harry squirmed uncomfortably, "he produced you – and you're not entirely awful."

"No, I suppose I'm not." Draco began to laugh, "Actually, I think you might have a bit of a thing for me."

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves." Harry closed the locket and slid it down the front of Draco's jumper.

"I think you have a crush on me."

"Oh, all lies." Harry grinned and kicked Draco's knees apart, "I can assure you that I do not find you at all attractive."

"Not at all?" Draco pouted.

"Not at all – you are very ugly."

"Awful?"

"Hideous."

"You have a hard on."

"I know."

"And," Draco grinned, "I would love to do something about it, but I can't."

"What?" Harry gaped, "after all the work I just put into that wonderful bit of foreplay?"

"Sorry Baby, it's time for my nap."

"You don't have naps!"

"Yes I do."

"No you don't!"

"Well today I do!"

"But…" Harry stared down at Draco, "what about…dinner?" _What about my massive hard on?_

"I figure we can wait and raid the kitchens later."

"So I have to wait until you wake up before I can eat? Fuck that, I'll go to the Great Hall alone!"

"Harry," Draco smiled and gave in to a small note of pleading, "just wait and we will raid the kitchens, and it'll be fun."

"How about I go and have dinner and I'll bring you back some?"

Draco snorted impatiently, "Fuck Harry, can't you just wait? It's not as though I'm asking you to starve to death – besides, Snape is taking Hermione out for dinner and Lavender is going to Hogsmeade to see that sad shit she's going out with…"

"Ernie's alright…"

Draco rolled his eyes, "whatever. The point is, who are you going to have dinner with? Weasel?"

Well, he had a point, and he didn't feel like sitting there alone. "No, I just…"

"Just what? Can't wait for dinner?"

"OK, ok, I'll wait for dinner."

"Good," Draco grinned, "now bugger off, and wake me up at eight."

" _EIGHT?_ That's a four hour nap!"

"Gotta get my beauty sleep – so eight?"

"I'll be a fucking corpse, lying there starving on the floor!"

Draco didn't know whether to laugh or cry, this was going to take some work.

Ron spent the day in his room, wishing he had saved some of Angelina's drug to fend off the cravings and perhaps quell the mounting sense of despair that filled him. He waited patiently, hoping that at any moment his mother's head would appear in the fire place to give him a piece of her mind, but the fire remained a fire, and that was all.

Soon people were leaving Hogwarts in favor of Hogsmeade and various dates. He knew that those who did not have dates were heading to the pub, and he'd been invited. The only people not going were Harry and Malfoy who had both been banned from leaving the castle – and they would no doubt be fucking each other.

Ron checked that the Common Room was empty before collecting his things and heading for a shower. He didn't need anyone to question about the bruises on his body. His body was too thin; he knew it, and the puncture wounds were stark against his pale flesh, marking him look like a map of pain. He did not look like an eighteen year old in any form of good health and at that moment it seemed intangible that he had once thought himself attractive.

Harry was right, he did look like a junkie.

He showered, scrubbing hard at every part of his body, trying to erase the feeling of sin and guilt, trying to rid himself of…himself, and hoping to wash it all way and rinse it down the drain.

After he bathed he dressed in the pajamas Fred had given him for Christmas. He had no doubt that Fred had scoured the Muggle stores of London looking for them – something to appeal to Ron's sense of humor. His brother's had always been good at that. The pajama pants were cotton, with a drawstring and covered in pictures of comical monkeys. The top was a soft fitted T-shirt with the Monkey's face emblazoned on the front. The pajamas were blue, the same cornflower blue as Ron's eyes.

He didn't deserve them, and Fred was probably regretting the money he had spent on them.

But they would forgive him. Of course they would. They were his family and he had faith in that. He had to believe that, and it was the only thing that would get him through this.

Still, he had not heard from his mother. No angry Howler, no face-to-face confrontation. His mother's anger was as dependable as his mother's love. That was why he knew Ginny had lied. His mother would never wish him dead. His mother's love was a constant in his life. Something he would keep with him, forever and ever.

But what if Ginny didn't lie? What if she was right?

Impossible.

 _But what if…_

His body began to shake and his legs gave way from under him. He landed hard on his arse and pushed himself under the basin, forcing his breathing to take a steady rhythm.

 _Calm down, she was lying. It was nothing. This is nothing. One day we will all laugh about it._

But George had said it too. But then, George had been angry. Angry as he had the right to be. George didn't speak for all of them, and they would forgive him.

They had to. They just had to.

"Oh fuck, what if they don't?"

 _They will. They love you, and one bad deed won't destroy that._

But it hadn't been one bad deed, it had been many. And then there was the war, when he had run to the front, when he had left his post and Charlie had stayed behind, because someone had to stay with Harry and Ron had abandoned him. And Charlie was dead…and Ron was alive.

 _They never blamed you. They don't blame you._

Ron drew his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms.

 _It'll be alright, It'll be alright, It'll be alright, It'll be alright._

"But what if it isn't?"

 _It will be. It has to be. This is nothing._

Hermione Apparated into a small alley off the side of Notting Hill Gate and stumbled forward clumsily. Strappy high heeled shoes were not the best things to be wearing when Apparating into a cobblestone alley way. She managed to save herself from tumbling over with a hand struck out desperately and finding a garbage can for support.

"Shit!" She looked around and dusted herself off, giving herself a quick going over with a grooming charm before hearing a loud crack nearby and Severus stepped from thin air with an easy measured stride.

"Ready?" He smiled and Hermione regained her composure. They were going out to dinner and nothing was going to spoil it – like asking nosey questions about why he was looking for ancient Sumerian incantations to draw down Angels and fend off Dementors. Hermione took his arm and smiled up at him. She really wasn't going to ask him, she wasn't going to say a word.

They stepped out into the street and hurried along the wet street to the restaurant. A few people glanced their way and Hermione supposed that they must look strange. She had grown up as a Muggle, but spending most of her formative years entrenched in Wizard lore had led her to be as backwards about Muggle habits as most of the Purebloods around. Most Wizard kind looked odd to the average Muggle, no matter how hard they tried to blend in. They simply always looked magical, as though it was ingrained into their very skin.

Both Hermione and Snape had worn Muggle clothes, but had made the mistake of wearing heavy travel cloaks over the top, something that was perfect for the Scottish winter, but were slightly too heavy and elaborate for London. Beneath the cloaks their outfits were surprisingly suitable for the place they were heading. As soon as Hermione had discovered that she was going to London for dinner on Valentine's Day, she had owled her mother for a dress. The resulting outfit was perfect, her mother having excellent taste and sticking to the old idea that the 'little black dress' went with everything – which it most certainly did. Lavender had dressed the outfit up with shoes and stockings and bits of pretty jewellery of which she seemed to have an endless supply. Hermione had looked at the end result with some satisfaction, deciding that she actually looked quite sophisticated.

Severus, on the other hand, looked decidedly uncomfortable in a rather modern muggle suit and tie. The slenderness of his frame meant that he, like Ron, was able to wear many of the fashions that young Muggle men seemed to favor, as a man however, Severus Snape was nothing like Ron Weasley. Whilst Ron looked good in such outfits, Severus Snape looked just plain out of place. The body was right, the outfit was right…the face just simply wasn't. Hermione decided that Severus was the kind of man that made a good Wizard, he looked imposing in robes, in a fitted black suit, he looked suspiciously like a badly aging Goth rock star.

She stifled a giggle at the comparison and he glared as he caught exactly what thought had just gone through her head. He was on the verge of turning around and going home, but he had promised her dinner and he could hardly wine and dine her in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley where someone was bound to know them – and ask many very difficult questions. Sabine Delancet had recommended the restaurant, and she had even booked the table for him…she had a better grip on just how to use the infernal telephone that they'd had to travel to the nearest Muggle village to use.

He knew as soon as he reached the restaurant that it had been a mistake. Damn Sabine! The restaurant and bar looked more like a High Street chemists store than a place to eat. There was also a line going all the way down the street that caused them both to look at each other uncertainly.

"Maybe we should just find a pub…" Hermione said, eyeing the horribly fashionable clientele warily.

Snape really couldn't agree more, but he had an unreasonable urge to see what the place looked like inside – and to find out what the hell you would eat if you were sat inside a chemists. Getting through the line was easy enough, he didn't even need to remove his wand from his pocket and when the enormous security guard at the front door demanded proof of age from Hermione – of which she had none, as student ID cards were not something Hogwarts issued – Snape surreptitiously waved his wand at the unsuspecting Muggle and, to Hermione's horror, cast the Imperius curse on him. They had their derrieres on the Jasper Morrison seats in a matter of minutes and a waitress in a neat Prada surgical gown was asking them if they would like a drink.

The drink of choice appeared to be the Formalin Martinis and they ordered two.

"This is hideous," Hermione whispered harshly.

"I know," Snape replied, obviously fascinated by a collection of Perspex trapped butterflies, pinned against various shades of sugared almond.

Hermione could only wonder what madman was responsible for the decor - the windows displayed pillboxes and packets of hemorrhoid cream; the bar stools were shaped like aspirins; there was a molecular structure of someone's DNA dominating the room. To her immense surprise, Snape had a huge grin on his face, as though he was about to burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh Gods, this is just fucked up," he said absently, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be making a romantic evening for Hermione.

"And might I point out that the Muggle Protection Act forbids the use of magic to make Muggles do what you want! The Imperius Curse is an Unforgivable, you could get in trouble for that!"

Severus snapped back to the moment and rolled his eyes, "darling, coming from Miss 'I ran around the school stealing supplies and breaking rules for years,' that is very rich." He smiled, "lighten up, we are in the worst restaurant in London and we have to make the most of it."

 _Did Severus Snape just tell her to lighten up?_ She poked her tongue out him. "Did you get any Muggle money? Or are you planning on convincing everyone with Imperius into letting us eat for free?"

"Well, that is a lovely idea darling, but I have money."

"Muggle money?"

"I am not an idiot Hermione!"

She blushed and twisted her napkin in her fingers. "I know, it's just that Wizards are notorious for not knowing how much Muggle money is worth…and…"

Snape reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, he produced a plastic card.

"Holy shit! Is that a Visa card?"

He nodded, "feel better?" he asked sarcastically.

She wasn't quite sure. She didn't know what was more bizarre, the fact that she was sitting on bench shaped like a condom box or that Severus Snape had a Visa card.

The waitress returned with their drinks and two menus. One sip of the drink had Hermione screwing her face up in horror and Severus downed his in one quick gulp.

"I'll get you something else, what do you want?"

"I don't know," she tried to produce enough spit to get the flavor off her tongue, "something sweet."

"They are not that bad."

"You liked that?"

Snape shrugged, "It's a martini, what's not to like?"

"Eww!"

He shook his head, amazed that the girl could drink a bottle of Absinthe straight and yet turn her nose up at a martini. He scanned the drinks list, "how about a strawberry margarita? You can't taste the alcohol in it."

"OK."

He slid off the bench and wandered over to the bar.

Hermione watched him go, enjoying the view of his long legs in the narrow suit pants. A quick glance around the restaurant proved that the place was little more than a show room for trendies and fashion victims, and just what they were doing there she had no idea. She really would have preferred a dark pub somewhere.

Snape slid back onto the bench beside her with a bright pink concoction – which she sipped, liked, and began to relax with.

The menu was mostly fish, something Hermione ate but rarely but that Severus seemed at least familiar. He chose for both of them, telling her that the butter fish had a milder flavor and that she would probably like it a little more.

"Did you get your home work finished."

"Wow, now that's romantic."

He smiled thinly, "I just want to make sure we don't have to get back early so that you can finish some assignment."

"I've finished my homework." She smiled and then chewed her lip. "Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"I was in your room this morning."

"And?"

"I read Lucius Malfoy's journal."

He put his drink down and pushed the quick rush of anger that coursed through him. "I see," he said, strained, "and why did you do that?"

"Well…it was there…and because you are always reading it. I wanted to see what you were reading."

"Did it ever occur to you to simply ask me what I was reading?"

Hermione flushed, she knew she should never have brought this up. How thick was she? "I didn't think you would tell me." She chewed her lip, "are you angry?"

"Yes," he replied plainly.

She bowed her head, "I'm sorry…I…I found something that you might have been looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I asked the journal what you were looking for and it showed me a page of incantations. I think they are Sumerian. I wrote them all down. I tried to decipher them today, but I can only get a couple of lines right. Zi Dingir Kia Kanpa is…"

"Spirit, God of the earth remember," he said in wonder.

"You know that?"

"What else was there?"

"Zi Dingir Anna Kanpa."

"Spirit, God of the sky remember."

"There was a chant, all the lines started with Zi Dingir…it was a protection spell against Dementors. Then there were two invocations, one for the seven gates and one for the watchers, and something about a Viper." She stared at him, as Severus seemed to have forgotten his drink, or that they were even in a restaurant somewhere in Muggle London. "What were you looking for Severus, why did you want these spells?"

"Lucius…did something…before he was Kissed. I'm trying to work out what it was."

"Something bad? Is it going to hurt anyone?"

"No!' he said hastily, "It's nothing to worry about. I promise you Hermione, it is nothing to worry about.

"I'm sorry I looked at your things."

"It's alright," he sounded uncomfortable and she knew that he hadn't forgiven her, not by a long shot.

Their food arrived and he shifted the conversation to the upcoming NEWTS, the end of school, Harry and Draco (something of which he did not approve) and the terrifying prospect of him meeting her parents. He seemed resigned to the fact that it would have to happen and this cheered Hermione no end. If he was going to meet her parents then he was certainly serious in his affections for her. She remembered their half dreamed conversation about her going to the Fenn when school ended and was suddenly filled with the urge to pin him up against the wall and fasten her hands to his arse.

She blushed and returned to her food, aware that they had slid a little closer to each other on their bench and that their thighs pressed together intimately. She was imagining some of the things she wouldn't mind doing to him when his hand landed half way up her thigh and she almost dropped her fork with surprise.

They were in public and she desperately wanted to molest him. His finger gently stroked her thigh through the fabric of her dress and her nerves fairly danced with anticipation.

"Pull up your dress," he murmured, focused on his plate.

His tone was soft, his voice barely above a whisper. The same voice he used when he was teaching a class, commanding students to do his bidding. Hermione slid her left hand down her lap and raised the hem of her dress, exposing first her knees and then her thighs. She felt wicked and excited. Her nipples hardened and she was damp between her legs. A glance down at his black suit pants proved that he was as aroused as she was.

He ran a finger along the edge of her stockings and snapped a suspender. "Very old fashioned of you?" he whispered, enjoying the fact that she wasn't wearing pantyhose.

"I thought you might like them," she replied, equally as soft in her tone. She was amazed at the fact she was still able to speak with a normal voice, given that her heart was racing in her chest.

She watched people milling about the bar and despite a wave of panic lest anyone see them, her excitement mounted as Severus moved his hand higher up her thigh. She couldn't help but open her knees a little further, so that his fingers found her silk covered pubis and eased under her panties, lightly combing through her wet folds and, so skillfully that she gasped out loud, found her clit. He rested his fingers there, resisting the urge to move his fingers as he knew she liked. Instead he subjected her clit to gentle pressure.

 _Oh Gods, I'm going to come. If he starts rubbing in that way he does, I'm going to come right here in the restaurant._

She closed her eyes as heat surged upward through her belly, causing her nipples to tingle. She realized that she must have the soppiest expression on her face, her mouth was open, and she was almost drooling.

 _Oh Gods, that feels so good…ohhhhhh._

"I want to fuck you," Severus whispered as he circled her clit in such a way that almost drove her over the edge.

"Yes…" she gasped, "I want you to fuck me."

Their eyes met…and suddenly they were both eating so fast and with such little regard for taste or texture that Hermione realized she could well have eaten her napkin and not even noticed it. She almost scrambled off the bench, turning back in panic about how he was going to deal with his erection and was relieved when the suit jacket covered it. He seemed cool and confident, the polar opposite of Hermione, who struggled to keep her composure. They remained only long enough to pay the bill and collect their cloaks, and then they emerged into the cold night.

Severus slung his arm around her shoulders as they wandered down the street, the cold air doing them both the world of good and bringing on a little restraint. They both walked slowly back to the alley to Apparate, enjoying the fact that they were walking down a public street and that there was no need to fret about some student – or teacher - popping up and discovering them. The sexual tension between them was almost tangible and despite their slow pace, Hermione was still wet and swollen and feeling as though she would explode.

The feeling appeared to be mutual because he pushed her into a darkened vestibule and kissed her hard on her lips, nudging her mouth open and seeking out her tongue. Then the kisses moved, lightly across her cheek to her ear lobe, and then on a path down her fragrant neck. From somewhere at the base of her throat she heard him whisper; "I want you naked."

"I know," she sighed ecstatically, "I want you naked too." She unzipped his pants and curled her fingers around the thickness of his cock. He moaned softly.

His back was to the street and they were kissing again, savoring each others taste, aching for each others bodies and knowing that they would have to part in order to return to the castle to fulfill each others desperate need.

Neither was aware of the figure of Archibald Semeuse on the other side of the street, hidden in the shadows, his face twisted into a smile of pure calculation at such an interesting turn of events.

*********************

Harry snapped his Potions textbook closed and silently cursed Hermione for dating the Potions Master and then disappearing off to Merlin knew where for Valentine's Day. Draco had locked him out of the room for the most ridiculous of reasons. A nap! Harry had no idea why Draco would need a nap, or why he couldn't sleep with Harry in the room. It wasn't as though he made excessive amounts of noise when he read…not unless you counted grunts and the occasional snort of frustration when he couldn't get some stupid bloody antidote conundrum.

 _Draco should be helping me with this._

He glanced at the clock on the wall as it ticked ever closer to eight. He was starving. He should have just gone down to dinner and pretended that he didn't. Of course, it was far too late for that now.

"Fuck Draco," he said aloud and then felt like a grade 'A' idiot if anyone had heard him. It was late enough now, he collected his books up, deciding to return to his room.

"Harry?"

He jumped and turned a cynical eye to Ron. "Don't you mean 'Disgusting Pervert'?"

Ron bowed his head, his hair was still wet from his shower. He smelled of soap and water and something else, an undercurrent that marred the fresh scents. He looked pretty terrible. "Can we…can we talk?"

Harry look up at the clock. It was five to eight. "Why?" Harry asked, "aren't you afraid I'm going to _grope_ you?"

"No…I…" Ron glanced around, "can we sit down?"

"No."

"Please Harry, I…"

Harry sighed, he didn't want to be in this situation, not again. What would happen next? He'd sit down, Ron would open up and the next morning Ron would be telling everyone he'd made a pass at him? "I'm not in the mood Ron."

"I'm sorry Harry."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

Ron nodded slowly, he looked confused, fearful. "I…I guess…"

"Good, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and see that 'shit' I sleep with and if I'm really lucky I might get butt fucked." Harry shoved past him, the muscle of his arm connecting with Ron's boney collarbone and almost knocking him down. He almost stopped, knowing that beneath the thick bathrobe, Ron's body was a wreck.

 _Turn around now and tomorrow you'll be a laughing stock – again_.

Ron hadn't moved, he was just standing there, staring at the floor and looking defeated. Harry sighed and forced himself to keep walking. It was eight o'clock, and he could go and wake Draco.

*********************

Hermione's breath came in great heaving gasps as she ran through the door of Snape's chambers, mercifully covered in Harry's Invisibility Cloak. They had reached Hogsmeade and taken off at a run, both wishing they'd had the foresight to stash brooms to make the journey back to the castle that bit faster. Hermione had the added difficulty of heels and the fact that she had to collect the Invisibility Cloak from its hiding place before she could descend the stairs to the dungeons.

She slammed the door with such force that it rattled on its hinges. She then turned to him with an almost animalistic growl, dumping the cloak on the floor. He was breathing as hard as she was from the run, but he was already pulling the suit jacket off with impatient speed.

"Take your clothes off," he panted, wrenching his tie off and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

Hermione's eyes glowed as her travel cloak was shucked away. There was no shyness from him, he knew her body well now. He knew its imperfections, and its plains and its curves. She unzipped the dress and let it pool on the floor with the cloaks. Her bra, suspenders, panties, shoes and stockings soon joined the dress and she stood before him, naked. They faced each other, neither ever tiring of the others body.

"You are so perfect," he breathed at last and his cock bobbed, bumping against his navel, "come here."

She walked to him and he laid her on the bed, stroking the length of her, causing every nerve and fiber of her body to snap and crackle, aching for more. Hermione closed her eyes and gave a little moan, lost in the moment, as though she lingered somewhere between reality and fantasy and Severus touching her was the only thing that mattered. Severus lay beside her, toyed with her breasts and sucked her nipples. She held his cock, rubbing her fingers along it's length and wetting the head with pre-come. The feel of him was a familiar one, but she still felt as though she was discovering every ridge and vein, she marveled at just how smooth it was, like velvet.

He kissed her lips, her neck, and her breasts. His tongue tormented her nipples until she was writhing, aching for more. He moved lower, dipping his tongue into her navel, before parting her swollen lips and lapping at her engorged clit until she was riding a wave of euphoria that wrought a cry from her and bucked her his up into his mouth.

"Good girl," he whispered, "you came for me."

"I…" she panted softly, "I always come for you."

He mounted her, pushing her legs back until her ankles were resting on her shoulders; and then he pushed his cock deep into her, moaning a little at the heat and tightness left over from her orgasm. The room seemed to resonate with the sound of their hurried breathing and the soft, wet sounds as he drove into her body and out again, then in once more, harder and deeper this time.

Hermione was drowning in sensations; his passion, the painful grip of his hand in her hair, the pressure of his pubis against hers. He slid in an out of her easily, she was so incredibly wet and yet the harder he pushed the wetter she became and the more she seemed to open for him. Her body was tense, striving to come again, but she was unsure if she could.

She reached a hand down, being daring, and she rubbed her clit, still sensitive from her previous orgasm. She feared that she may offend him, but was rewarded with a sharp thrust into her and he was smiling.

"Yes, my love. Touch yourself, let me see you play with yourself."

She rubbed a little harder, inexpert at masturbating herself, but her body responded almost instantly to her own touch. She jolted up, her vagina closing hard around him.

Severus gasped, and thrust deep into her, surging forward and filling her with his seed. Hermione lay panting beneath him, feeling every muscle suddenly liquefying and they both seemed to become one with the mattress and pillows. She drew him down beside her, their arms tangled around each other, bathed in sweat.

They stayed this way for a long time, until Severus pulled the blankets over them both and they faded into sleep. At some point during the night, deep inside Hermione's body, two sparks of life met and fused together, changing into something new. Something full of infinite promise.

********************

 _Bloody Ron._ Harry felt a pang of regret as he reached his bedroom door. Ron had wanted to talk, so perhaps Harry should have talked.

Except that Harry just couldn't trust Ron at the moment, and he didn't want to fight. Not today. Ron had stepped over the mark by such an incredible distance that it had made Harry's head spin. Ron's venomous hatred had taken Harry by surprise; and while Harry knew Ron would not be pleased about Harry's choices, he had expected something from more than seven years of friendship. But Ron's inability to see reason, his vindictiveness, had pushed any nostalgic memory of their friendship into the shadows of Harry's mind and left only the fresh reality of a man who hated him. Who hated everyone it seemed.

But he had wanted to talk, and he is seriously fucked up.

The memory of Ron's thin, pale and battered body seemed frozen in Harry's mind and caused Harry to stop in the narrow corridor. Ron's face had been bruised tonight, as though he had been fighting – and had lost. The puncture wounds, needle marks all over Ron's arms and legs… _in his stomach for god's sake._

Harry shuddered and looked at his watch. It was past eight now, and he wanted to wake Draco, crawl into bed with him and feel his arms around him. He didn't want that image of Ron in his head. How long could a talk take?

"Don't," Harry told himself quietly, "you know what is going to happen. You know what he is going to do."

But Ron looked so bloody awful.

"Tomorrow, I'll deal with it tomorrow." That would be better anyway, tomorrow Ron wouldn't be able to say that Harry and gone to his rooms, hoping to seduce him.

 _And what if he doesn't want to talk tomorrow?_ __

 _I'll put him in a full body bind until he does._

Harry opened the door – and all thoughts of Ron left him in a rush of emotion. The room was full of tiny tea lights and the air was heady with the scent of summer flowers. In the centre of the room was a small table with two chairs, laid for dinner, whilst a bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket.

"Happy Valentine's Day Scar Head"

Harry felt his face split into a wide grin. "Oh…oh wow!" He looked at Draco in awe, "You…you did this for me?"

"No, I did it for the bloody House Elf."

Harry looked to the corner where Dobby was nervously holding a clean tea towel over his arm. He was dressed rather well in a neat little waistcoat, hat and trousers. Presumably this is what Draco had used to convince him to actually come near his former Master.

"You did this for me…" Harry said again, feeling lost for words, unable to formulate a proper sentence.

Draco blushed a little, "Well, I am the keeper of your dreams after all, how crap would I be if I couldn't take care of them properly?"

Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway, holding his textbooks and wishing he'd actually bothered to shower.

"Are you coming inside Potty?"

"Yeah…I just…yeah…" Harry felt his eyes begin to water.

"Jeez Potter, don't go getting all sentimental on me."

Harry laughed, and felt a tear slip down his face. "Well you started it."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

*********************

Ron hadn't expected Harry to talk to him, not really. Ron had spent over a month ensuring that Harry would never want to talk to him again. He'd made Harry's life a living hell, told him he was a pervert, that what he felt was wrong. Which was ridiculous, Fred was gay and Ron had no problems at all with Fred's sexuality. It was Harry's choice of Malfoy that had hurt.

But even so, Malfoy had stuck by Harry, despite the mail, abuse and sideways glances. Draco Malfoy wasn't going anywhere.

Ron could still see them in his minds eye. Malfoy gasping as he came, crying out Harry's name at that moment and then Harry kissing him, loving him. Harry loving Malfoy.

And Malfoy loving Harry.

Harry was happy then, and for the first time Ron was able to see through the layers of hatred and be glad of it. Harry had waited so long, he deserved happiness. He deserved something good.

 _But with Malfoy?_ Ron shook his head and found himself smiling. It must have taken them both by surprise, that realization that they wanted each other, that they loved each other.

Something pure. Not like Angelina.

In his room he found Pig on the windowsill, half frozen and carrying a letter far too big for the tiny owl. Ron opened the window to let the bird in, dusting the snow from it's soft feathers. He knew who the letter was from. He recognized his mother's handwriting and the family seal well enough.

But this was no Howler, and the silence was somehow more ominous than his mother's voice echoing from the rafters. For this reason, he purposely ignored the envelope, putting it aside and concentrating on his owl; ensuring that every snowflake, every piece of ice, was removed and that Pig was sated with food and water.

He had options of course. He could always ignore the letter. He had long since lost his fear of his mother's anger, but, like all of the Weasley children, he lived in terror of her disappointment; and the silence of the letter was a clear indication that disappointment was indeed what the letter contained. If he ignored the letter, he could ride the wave of his family's anger and deal with it in the summer when the bitterness would still be there, but the anger would be replaced by a reasonable ability to work it out.

But sleeping with George's wife was slightly higher on the unforgivable scale than stealing the family car, and his mother was angry enough to send a letter now and not wait for the morning post. There was no guarantee that the dust would settle by the summer. It would be better to deal with it now.

There was a part of him that wanted her anger, knowing that her anger was born of her love. And his mother's love would last forever. It had to. She was his mother!

He put his toiletries away neatly, deciding to treasure them for the first time since he got them. His parents had given them to him after all, and money was always tight. The ring on his finger glinted in the light and he turned his hand to inspect it a little better.

"Oh Gods George, I am so sorry." George could not hear him, he had no desire to hear him. "I am so sorry."

He picked up the envelope and sat down on the edge of his bed, turning it over in his fingers. He stayed that way for a long time, turning the letter over and over, until the tips of his fingers were numb and the parchment looked grubby and had started to blacken from the oils in his skin. Oils that smelt suspiciously like the drug that was obviously still coursing through him. He wondered if would ever be out of his system.

He opened the envelope and pulled the letter out, unfolding the paper and smoothing it, avoiding looking at the words for as long as he could.

Molly Weasley had obviously been angry when she had written the letter, her writing was almost run together, and Ron could imagine her writing it. Angry, her eyes blazing, her face set, and her quill flying across the parchment with fury filled strokes. Telling him things she would hold back if she was calm, telling him things he knew to be horribly true.

 _"Ronald_ __

 _I cannot bring myself to address you by our family's name, and I cannot bring myself to taint our family by any admission that we raised you; you have never been further from being a member of this family. I have spent the day trying to make some sense of this. I have tried to reason with your brothers, with your father, with myself, and I can only come up with one answer; that we made some kind of fundamental flaw with the way we raised you._ __

 _I cannot justify your actions. No matter how hard I try to find some hidden reason why you would do this to your brother, your family, I can't find any. I tried to put it down to any number of things, sexual awakening, a moment of stupidity; but I cannot believe it to be anything other than your own selfishness, your carnal lusts and an act of pure malice that brought you to choose Angelina. What has your brother done to you that could make you hate that much? What have we done to make you the kind of person who could do such a thing?_ __

 _How dare you do this? How dare you destroy your brother's life, his marriage, his hopes and dreams of happiness? You have destroyed our trust and faith; you have made us look upon each other with suspicion. Your actions this morning have made the evening edition of the paper, screaming at your brothers in the street! How dare you pull our families name down into the gutter with you?_ __

 _Your father does not want to see you, and it is a sentiment shared by all of us. We do not want you back here for the summer. I will send all of your belongings to Hogwarts and where you go from there is your own decision. If you come here you will be turned away, wards have been put around the house to repel you. You are not welcome here. I do not want to see you, I do not want to hear of you, I do not want to hear your name mentioned._ __

 _If you had just stayed where you were that day, if you had not swapped positions with Charlie. If you had just stayed where you were supposed to, then perhaps this wouldn't be happening now and the family could be happy. This is supposed to be a time of peace and you have shattered it…"_

Ron didn't bother to finish the letter. There was no point, he knew it contained more of the same – and he had read enough. His mother had made her point perfectly clear.

He didn't cry. He couldn't. It was as though his body and soul had suddenly been hollowed out and all that was left behind was a dry husk, something that would crumble into dust if touched. He folded the letter reverently and placed it on the nightstand next to his wand.

He was selfish. He had always been selfish. That must be true. He could feel it in himself. Some kind of morbid self-obsession that caused him to disregard his family and hurt them without thought. In his mind, clouded from drugs and grief, he could not think of a moment that he had ever been selfless.

Ron looked around the room and found not one family photograph. There never had been one, he didn't even know if he owned one. They were all at the Burrow, in the family albums he had never bothered to look at.

His mother's love would last forever, it would, and it had to.

But it hadn't. She wanted him gone. She wanted him dead.

And she was right, she always was.

If she wanted him gone, to never hear of him again, to never see his face; he had to go. He had to do what his mother wanted and make her happy, that was the only way that she might ever see the way clear to forgive him. If he was to go, he would have to go now, it was only fair to Ginny that she didn't see him either, because if Ginny saw him she might say something…and his mother didn't want to hear of him, not ever again.

He had to leave.

He climbed off the bed and pulled his trunk out from under it. There was little left inside the trunk – except the less than creatively named 'Bear'. He lifted his childhood teddy from the trunk and smiled affectionately at the well-loved form and then clutched him tightly to his chest. Pulling the trunk out dislodged the Contract from the place Ron had thrown it after Christmas, never wanting to see it again. He picked it up and stared at the assortment of brightly colored flowers, beside Harry's name a rose was in the process of blooming, growing larger and brighter and smelling sweetly of summer.

 _They were fucking, right at that moment, wrapped in each other, loving each other. Malfoy's mouth was on Harry's body…and Harry was crying out in ecstasy._

Ron threw the contract on the empty bed opposite and returned to sit on his bed with Bear.

Bear had been given to him at birth. They had all received a bear, it was one of the few things from his childhood that had not seen a multitude of brothers before it reached his hands. His own teddy bear. Something of his very own, to treasure forever. He had carried bear clutched to his chest for half his life, refusing to leave him anywhere, fretting at the very idea of giving him up – even when his brothers began to torment him relentlessly for being a baby. In retrospect that's exactly what he was, a small child holding on to his teddy bear as though it were his talisman against the Boggart in the cupboard. Bear was bald now, and only a few tufts of hair existed along the seam lines. He had once been dark brown, now he was a strange faded shade of cloth. His ears had been stitched back on so many times that there was more thread there now than ear. He had lost his left eye many years ago, and a faded felt patch covered the eye, rendering Bear the Pirate from that day forth.

Bear had accompanied Ron on every journey of his life. No longer clutched to his chest, but safely tucked away, somewhere in a place where he couldn't be lost. Even if that place was the bottom of a trunk, he was still there. Ron had felt a fool at eighteen, packing his decrepit teddy bear to go to school. But Bear had to come, it would never do to leave Bear behind. Bear was always part of the adventure, Bear had always liked adventures – especially if it had something to do with the high seas. He was a Pirate after all.

So if Ron was leaving, Bear was going with him.

"Guess what Bear," Ron smiled and ran a finger over Bear's threadbare belly, "we're going on a journey, far far away. There will be lots of adventures," he drew a shuddered breath, "you were always up for an adventure."

Bear stared back at Ron, his one eye still bright after all these years.

"But we are going to need to buy tickets."

Ron possessed very few things of any real value, one of them was a dagger that Dumbledore had presented to him a year before. Harry had one the same. The daggers were incredibly sharp, made by some ancient method of metal folding that rendered them deadly, even after a thousand years. Its handle was jeweled and worth more than his family home.

Not his home, not anymore.

Harry had used his dagger to kill a Dark Lord, Ron would put his to a far more mercenary use, he would use it to purchase his ticket away from Hogwarts and away from the only life he had ever known. He would use his to spirit himself away from the very memory of his family's embrace. He would use it to make them happy, at last put it to good use and make everything better.

He placed Bear on the pillow and climbed into bed. The sheets had been changed and smelled fresh, and he felt a small pleasure rush through his body as he slid down between them. It had been a sensation he had always loved, even when he was small. Fresh sheets on a bed. He smiled, perhaps nostalgia was over coming him, now when he knew he was going to be leaving. He looked down at Bear, who suddenly looked so small and worn and stitched up more times than he could count.

A tear splashed on to bear.

 _Stop it. Stop crying, there is no one here to see you, they don't want to see you, they are not your family any more. You have to make things as they should be._

He ran his fingers over the dagger. Ancient and beautiful. His way out. So much like a coward, running from the fight.

He sliced into the baby soft meat of his inner wrist and ran the blade neatly down the length of his arm, laying it open from wrist to elbow like a fleshy red fruit with a hard white core. He knew he had to cut all the way to the bone. A wizard's body was resilient, it took a long time to die and no half arsed attempt at suicide would work. He had to sever every artery and vein.

 _I can make this better._

He forced his hand to work, ignoring the pain from his arm. He flexed the rapidly failing fingers and curled them around the handle.

 _Finish this, just do something right for the first time in your pathetic life._

He repeated the process on his other arm, flaying the flesh wide open, destroying skin and muscle and carving a trail along the bone.

 _"Mummy…"_ his voice came unbidden, high pitched and snagged on a sob. _Don't cry, you don't deserve to cry._

He nestled into the bed, pulling the covers over himself and bringing bear to him, holding him tight. This was for the best, it would make them happy, and it would make George happy. And they wouldn't have to collect him either, they could just tell Dumbledore to get rid of him and Dumbledore would find somewhere to put him. Some place, out of the way. Dumbledore wouldn't trouble them further with it. It would be a brief piece of good news for them and then they wouldn't have to hear anything else about him. He'd be gone, and everything would be better.

His magic was fading, the light flickered and went out.

Then the tears came, selfish tears and choking sobs that came from deep in his throat. He pressed his face hard into bear, breathing in the slightly musty scent of his trunk and the ancient scent of love. He sniffled back his tears and tried to ignore the choked sound his breathing made.

"Don't be afraid Bear," He whispered and trembled as he held his bear a little tighter. His eyes shone in the darkness, slick with tears and he tried to close them – but they would not stay shut. He opened them, and saw nothing but the night. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine that they would know when he was gone, that there might be some subtle shift in the world that would signal to them that he was gone and it was over. Would they feel elation? Or would there perhaps be some sadness, some kind of brief sorrow that might cause them to ask where he was? Perhaps not seek out the patch of ground, but at least want to know where he was.

Just so they'd know he was there.

"Don't be afraid Bear," Ron whispered again, "I'm here to protect you and it isn't far to go…we'll be there before you know it."

*************************************

 **Notes:**

The title 'Perfect Day' is taken from the Lou Reed song of the same name.

Draco's card is lyrics to the Sisters of Mercy song 'Body and Soul'

Harry's card is a poem and my mind has just gone blank...I'll post the name later

Lucius' incantation against Dementors comes from the Necronomicon

The restaurant that Hermione and Snape go to is based on the ill fated Damian Hirst project 'Pharmacy'...where I had a really bloody awful night once a long time ago.


	34. Breathe

_Disclaimer: See Prologue_

 **Chapter 15** ****

 **Breathe**

As a by product of having raised seven children, Molly Weasley always found herself awake and in her small kitchen early. It was an ingrained habit, wrought through years of practice, to open her eyes in the early hours when the world was still, and lie in her bed, listening to the sounds of her husband sleeping, and the various shifts and groans of the house. She would lie contentedly until she could be still no longer, then get up and go downstairs around five am.

This morning saw a marked difference to her usual routine. Worry, not habit had forced her from her bed at four and she found herself pacing the length of her bedroom, her stomach churning as though she was going to be sick. Arthur hadn't come to bed, and she knew that she would find him asleep or at least, dozing, on the old lounge in the front room. He was probably still angry, and she wouldn't blame him if he was. She was still angry with herself, and her anger had turned itself into the stomach churning nausea that was part anger and part despair.

Having decided to go down to the kitchen and force herself into some kind of normal routine that would perhaps distract her mind from its present woes, she pulled on her dressing gown and made her way out into the narrow hall. She went upstairs first, to look in on George. He was fast asleep, lying on his back looking pale and exhausted. They had forced him to take a sleeping draught and he had collapsed almost as soon as he'd swallowed it. He would be asleep for a long while yet and Molly had no doubt he needed it. She adjusted his blankets and brushed the hair back from his face. It was getting too long; he really should cut it. She smiled at the absurdness of the thought. Regardless of all that had happened, it felt good to have one of her children asleep under her roof. It felt good to have someone to take care of again.

Leaving George, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Through the rickety arch she could see Arthur, as she had predicted, asleep on the lounge. She threw a crocheted blanket over him and tried to decipher his sleeping face, trying to determine if he was still angry. She tucked the comforter around him and decided not to wake him, despite her overwhelming desire to talk. They did not fight often and when they did, Molly preferred to quickly resolve the argument. But this time her quick temper had caused some real damage, and she could not see a resolution coming to mind soon.

Molly had always been quick to anger. She would admit to manifold faults, but her temper was more likely than not, her greatest. She had a terrible habit of saying the first thing that came into her head and then, after a few hours to calm down, she would be thinking rationally again. As such, her husband and her children had learned to take her temper with a pinch of salt.

But Ron. Well, it was not as though he had been trying to sneak Ton Tongue Toffees off to the Quidditch World Cup. Even stealing his fathers car had been a far more forgivable thing to do. When George had spoken to them the day before she had responded with stunned silence. It wasn't until later when Fred and George had both arrived at the Burrow, that she had felt her anger and temper simmer until she lashed out.

And then the Daily Prophet had printed the bloody, story grubbily airing their dirty linen to the entire Wizarding World, complete pictures that someone had managed to take of the boys scuffling in the street. The story had been the last straw. She had written the letter before she'd had time to think about what she was writing and after she'd sent it she had felt justified for a long time after.

It was Arthur actually voicing what she had done that had cut through the angry red haze. Arthur who had been at the Ministry trying to smooth things over, who was desperately trying to formulate a plan to reduce the damage to his family. He had come home late and heard about the letter and had gone pale, then stared at her in disbelief.

 _"You sent a letter to our son telling him he should have died in the war?"_

And then of course the realisation had hit her with the force of stampeding Hippogriffs.

She had tried to justify it. George stood by her, still angry himself. Ron had turned up in Diagon Ally and had not even tried to deny the affair. He had even had the gall to be wearing Angelina's wedding ring, throwing the infidelity in his brother's face.

Still, Fred had pointed out that Ron had gone to speak to George and he had taken a beating for it without lifting a hand in his own defence. Surely he must have felt some small spark of remorse.

Arthur in the meantime had already come up with a plan. Firstly they had to deal with George, which meant dealing with the papers and the Ministry (who had sent a ridiculous letter to the boys about public brawling). No doubt Fudge trying to get one up on his adversary. It was true that the house was warded against Ron, but it was for the protection of both sons as Arthur didn't want another fight to erupt. Arthur planned to go to Hogwarts on Monday morning and speak with their youngest son, to try and work out what had happened. Arthur also hoped he could find a solution to the whole sordid mess. By the time Arthur had a chance to relay all this to Molly however, she had already written and sent the letter and was busy stewing in her own juices.

Now Molly was at a total loss as to what to do with herself. She had to apologise of course, and she didn't really want to contemplate Ron's reaction on reading those hurtful words. She lived safe in the knowledge that Arthur would go there first thing this morning and talk to him, tell him that it was just his mother going off half cocked again, and that she still loved him regardless of what he had done.

But that he still had to make amends.

She made herself some tea and sank gratefully into a chair at the kitchen table to drink it. Her head throbbed and her stomach gave another nauseating lurch. How could she have written such a thing? How could she have thought it, even for a moment? It had always been her greatest fear. That her children would die before her. That fear had been realised twice already; twice too many, and she couldn't stomach the thought that it might happen again. She would lose herself with them the next time.

 _Arthur will sort this out. Arthur will go and speak to him and all will be well, we will get through this._

Molly cast a glance at her sleeping husband in the other room and smiled as she always did when she watched him. All would be well, it had to be. She drew her gaze back to her tea…and noticed something in the corner of her eye. Something wasn't quite right; something was out of place, although she couldn't work out just what it was. She frowned and stared at the wall. Everything was as it should be. Stairs, bench, umbrellas, ornaments, clock…

Clock.

Her mouth ran dry and her throat clicked painfully as she tried to swallow. She struggled to her feet and walked slowly towards the clock on the wall.

"Arthur?" she said uncertainly, leaning forward to look at it properly, and then louder, panicked; _"Arthur!"_

Arthur Weasley woke with a start and sat up. Momentarily disorientated, he looked around the dark lounge room for his wife and found her standing the other side of the wooden arch, pale, shaking and staring at the clock on the wall.

"Molly? What is it?"

She didn't answer him. It was as though she had momentarily been struck dumb with horror. She reached forward to run her fingers over the hands of the clock, willing it to be wrong. Ron's hand on the clock had moved from 'School' to 'Mortal Peril'.

********  
Harry was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was eighteen years old and sitting in the passenger seat of a turquoise Ford Anglia that he hadn't seen the inside of since he was twelve. The car was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest behind Hogwarts, but in the dream it looked pristine, as though it had just been manufactured.

Ron was driving and sitting between them was a battered looking teddy bear that was resplendent in a red velvet pirates costume and brandishing a small sword. Ron turned to Harry and grinned. He was looking good, not at all like the skinny wreck Harry had seen just last night. His eyes were as bright as the blue sky outside and as Harry looked out the window, he realised that they were flying over some tropical place that Harry had never seen before.

Ron seemed to have hundreds of thin red ribbons tied to his arms and they fluttered in the breeze from the open windows.

"Muggles aren't accustomed to seeing flying cars," Harry said, testing his voice.

Ron shrugged. "Oh, you know Muggles, Harry, they don't know what they see half the time…and the invisibility booster always has been faulty, you should know that by now." He grinned again, "besides, there is no one down there to notice anyway."

Harry peered down to inspect the beach and saw that it was indeed deserted.

"I meant to talk to you last night," said dream Harry to dream Ron.

"It's ok, I don't blame you for not wanting to," Ron smiled warmly and continued, "it doesn't matter now anyway." He seemed to sigh heavily, "I guess I fucked things up pretty badly eh?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, maybe, just a little bit."

"I wanted you to know that I am really sorry. I don't know what was wrong with me, I just…I couldn't seem to think straight." He stared out of the window at the horizon. "I don't want you to remember me as some worthless prick who made your life a misery. I mean…we had fun didn't we? Before the war?"

Harry couldn't help but grin at this. "Yeah, we had fun during the war too."

"I just wanted you to know that I was wrong…about everything, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks mate, it means a lot."

"I'm really just so sorry Harry."

"It's ok."

"I…I have to go now."

Harry laughed, "Ron, we're hundreds of feet off the ground, where are you going to go?"

"Away…Charlie's waiting for me."

Harry frowned at looked quickly at Ron. He looked drawn and pale, the red ribbons around his arms no longer fluttered but looked thick and red and wet. "Ron?"

"Goodbye Harry."

"Ron!"

Ron opened the door, slipped out of the seat and Harry screamed, desperately searching for the place where Ron had fallen.

But he was gone. He'd simply vanished.

"Ron?" Harry's eyes flickered between that blue sky and the darkness of a bedroom. "Ron?" He blinked again and the blue sky was gone. "Ron?"

"He's not here," came a muffled reply beside Harry.

Harry looked down, only then realising that he was sitting bolt upright in bed. Draco lay half on his side, half on his belly, hugging his pillow.

"I was having this dream…" Harry frowned at the memory, "about Ron."

"I could hear that," Draco grumbled into his pillow, "go back to sleep."

"He just disappeared."

Draco lifted his head momentarily, "And if you go back to sleep, you might find him again."

"Maybe I should go and see him."

Draco rolled onto his back with an impatient sigh. "You're not going to let me get back to sleep are you?"

"I'm serious; maybe I should go and see him. He wanted to talk last night and I told him to piss off."

"Good for you," Draco yawned, "now, sleep on it."

Harry began climbing over Draco.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to see him."

"Why?"

"I told you, I just had this weird dream…"

"Oh great," Draco sat up and stared sleepily as Harry began pulling on clothes, "he's going to love this, I can hear him already; _'Potter had a dream about me and then he came to molest me in my sleep.'_ Really fucking nice Harry."

"Well," Harry said, pulling on his slippers, "if he does that, I give you full permission to hex him."

Draco shook his head and swung his legs out of the bed.

"And where are you going?"

"With you of course."

Harry scowled, "and why would you do that?"

"That way, if Weasel Boy says anything to you I can hex him straight away." Draco yawned and stretched and scratched his belly. "I don't know why you're bothering; it was only a fucking dream."

"Yeah, well, I learned to take my dreams pretty seriously during the war."

"But wasn't that only because the Dark Lord was feeding you visions?"

Harry frowned. He was about to ask just how Draco knew that Voldemort had fed him visions but he stopped himself. The answer was fairly obvious. Lucius Malfoy had no doubt told him and with a shudder Harry realised that they had probably laughed about it. "Old habits die hard," he replied darkly.

Draco shrugged and pulled on his pyjama pants and T-shirt and began hunting around for his dressing gown. Harry watched impatiently.

"You don't have to come, it's only Ron."

"But I want to," Draco replied, finding his dressing gown and turning it in the right way.

"You could stay here and sleep."

"It's not the same without you." As Draco pulled the gown on and belted it tightly, he grinned at Harry cheerfully.

Harry felt his irritation melt away in wash of 'he's so cute' thoughts. He tried to brush his fingers through Draco's sleep mussed hair, messy enough to rival Harry's own at that moment. It was tempting to kiss him, to take off everything that Draco had just put on and throw him on the bed. He doubted that Draco would protest. They had sex almost nightly, often twice a day. It was as though they couldn't get enough of each other, as though they were continuously trying to merge and become one.

It was tempting and Draco had begun to smile that smile.

 _Pull yourself together Potter, just go and check on Ron. You can fuck later._

Or maybe they could just kiss and cuddle and be sickeningly romantic with each other as they had been last night.

"Love you," Harry murmured.

"Love you too," Draco smiled dazzlingly.

Harry shook his head, he had to clear it. Go and check on Ron, there is time for this later.

"Ok," he rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet, trying to think of something other than Draco naked and wanting it. He couldn't, so he turned on his heel and made for the door. Draco grabbed his wand and followed.

********  
Harry stopped abruptly outside Ron's bedroom door causing Draco, who was watching Harry's arse and not where he was going, to slam soundly into the back of him.

"Um, sweetheart, I think I should maybe go by myself."

Draco pouted and folded his arms insolently.

"I'll call you if I need you."

Draco frowned, stamped his foot and threw himself onto a bench outside the door. Harry looked down at him and for a moment actually contemplated begging him not to act like a spoiled child. He bit the criticism back however, knowing full well that to say anything would instantly cause an argument. Besides, Harry had a habit of being equally as childish, it would be a little like the pot calling the kettle black.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?"

The pout on Draco's face softened a little and he raised his eyes to Harry. "You think so?"

"You know I do."

"Would you love me if I was ugly?"

"You know I would."

"Liar," but he was smiling now and Harry stroked his hair back.

"You know I would," he said again and leant down to kiss Draco gently.

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you."

Harry grinned, "I'll call you…I promise." He looked around the darkened Common Room and kissed Draco again. Then he straightened and tapped softly on the door.

"Well _that's_ not going to wake him up!"

"Draco!" Harry hissed, "I am _not_ trying to wake up the whole tower."

Draco rolled his eyes and resumed pouting. Harry ignored him and tapped again. There was no answer and slowly, as quietly as possible, Harry tried the door handle. It opened easily and he slipped into the room.

Draco craned his head around to see where Harry was going; "Are you…"

"Shhhh!"

Draco sneered and turned back, hoping to Merlin that Weasel did hex Harry just to prove that Draco was right.

"Ron?"

The air in the room seemed closed and thick; nothing moved, as though time was standing still. Harry moved into the room and felt the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stand on end. He whispered for light and the room lit up.

"Ron?"

Ron appeared to be fast asleep, curled under a pile of blankets. Harry could just make out a splash of red hair on the pillow. A small rush of relief washed through him, but it was short lived. He couldn't shake the sense of foreboding, but at least Ron was still there. He hadn't disappeared as Harry had so vividly dreamt.

"Ron, are you awake?"

Now that was a stupid question. It was perfectly obvious that Ron wasn't awake and Harry stood in the centre of the room awkwardly trying to work out just what he should do or say. To wake Ron up could possibly make things worse, but still, he had come here now, and he'd pulled Draco out of bed as well. Harry thought he could at least suggest that they talk about things. He moved up the bed, something in him not wanting to look down at the figure under the covers. He gave Ron a little shake.

"Ron, we really need to talk."

Nothing, not so much as a "fuck off and leave me alone." Harry leaned over cautiously and tried to make out Ron huddled under the covers. Was he pretending to sleep? What Harry could see of Ron's face was pale, almost as white as the pillow slip. The soft brush of ginger lashes splayed across the pale cheek that was visible.

Could he be pretending to sleep?

"Ron, come on, wake up, we need to talk about this!"

Ron didn't so much as move.

"This is ridiculous! Just wake up!" Harry shook him again, angrily grabbing Ron's shoulder and jerking Ron's body back and forth in an effort to make him stir – and then he suddenly stopped.

There was something wrong. Ron moved slackly beneath the covers. He just felt wrong. For a moment Harry wondered if perhaps he was sick and without thinking Harry placed the back of his hand against Ron's forehead.

He felt cold and clammy.

"Ron? Are you ok?" He rolled Ron onto his back hoping to rouse him into speaking and when he didn't. Harry tugged the covers down.

"Ron?"

Harry looked. Looked and really saw. He shot backwards from the bed, falling and scuttling backwards across the floor and slamming into the wardrobe. He couldn't get air into his lungs and he found himself panting, his eyes wide.

 _It's not true, it's not true, it's not true._

It was just his eyes, playing tricks in the early morning. He hadn't seen it. Slowly he stood, keeping his back against the wardrobe, not wanting to go closer in case…

"R-r-r-on?" Harry gasped from across the room, "Please wake up."

He stared, knowing that he should go closer, but he felt frozen, as though keeping his back against the wardrobe would make it all a ghastly illusion. This wasn't supposed to happen, not now. There wasn't supposed to be more blood and more death. The war was finally over and the world was beautiful. They had promised him, they had all promised him!

"Draco…" It didn't come out loud enough, Harry's voice was rasping and full of air. He forced his throat to work, swallowing hard and trying again. "Draco…DRACO!"

*

Draco skidded into the room, wand out, prepared for anything…but not what confronted him.

He ground to a halt, taking in Harry pressed against the wardrobe, pale with shock and disbelief and then the bed, with the ruin of a man lying in it.

"Fucking hell…"

Draco walked to the bed and looked down at Ron Weasley. They had always hated each other and as Draco lifted Ron's chin, seeking out the carotid artery, he thought it ironic that he was now hoping against hope that Weasley was still alive.

Not because he particularly wanted Ron to live, he honestly didn't care one way or another, but Harry would no doubt blame himself for the Weasel's death and Draco didn't want that hanging over Harry's head. He surveyed Ron's body. What had once been blue pyjamas were now slicked dark purple with blood and gore. Tucked neatly into the crook of one arms was what could have been an old teddy bear; it now resembled a hellish parody of a child's toy, so wet with blood that it looked clotted. The blood smelled rotten, as though it had already clotted in his veins.

Draco suddenly felt sick and he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He kept searching, not being particularly good at healing charms, or finding pulses, he didn't take the fact that he couldn't get one too seriously just yet. Weasley had a Wizards body, and Wizards were hard beings to kill. Harry had seen him at around eight the previous night, and it was now around four thirty, so provided he hadn't gone straight to his room and done this, the Weasel had probably been in this state for about seven or eight hours…plenty of time for some pathetic Muggle to bleed to death, but not a pureblood Wizard.

Of course, Draco conceded, he could be wrong.

"Is he…?"

"I'm trying to find that out," Draco snapped with more venom than he intended. And then he found it, faint, but there. "I found a pulse," Draco said quietly. He stood back a little and turned one of Ron's arms over to inspect the wound. "Well Weasel," he said matter of factly, "you did a bloody good job of it."

"Don't call him that."

"What?" Draco realised that Harry had come up behind him, finally being able to move away from the wardrobe now that he knew he wasn't looking at another dead body.

"Don't call him Weasel."

Draco turned to Harry, who looked as though he would fall over at any moment. He gently eased Harry down to the side of the bed, deciding that he needed to sit down. Draco didn't feel too good himself; if Harry collapsed it could well end up a travesty.

"Ok, now you stay with him and I'm going to try and raise Pomfrey."

Harry looked up at him fearfully, "don't leave me here…Please, don't leave me with him. What if he dies, what am I going to do?"

"Sweetheart, I need to go and get some help. You stay here with him, he'll be alright. Just…talk to him." Draco brushed the hair back from Harry's forehead and realised too late that he would streak blood across his face. "You take care of him, I won't be long, I promise."

Harry looked unconvinced, as though one too many promises had been broken for him to believe anything right now.

"Stay with him…" Draco edged out of the room, trying to smile reassuringly at Harry, "It will be ok, you'll see."

With Draco gone, Harry turned to Ron and trembled slightly. He reached out and his hand fluttered uncertainly over Ron's cheek, his shoulder, the bloody ruin of his arm.

"Please wake up." Harry's voice hitched and he let go, tears bursting from his eyes so suddenly that it was like an explosion. He gulped loudly, rasping noisily for air. He leant forward and gently picked Ron up, lifting him bodily into a tight embrace, supporting his neck and head, and buried his face into Ron's thick, red hair.

*******

Minerva and Dumbledore met Draco on the staircase. He almost collided with the Headmaster who was running as fast up the stairs as Draco was running down them. She looked at his face, drained of blood and his eyes pale and glazed. He seemed to be shaking despite the layers of clothes he was wearing. The boy looked as though he was ready to faint dead away, but he was looking wildly past them and tried to push through to continue on his journey down the stairs. Minerva grabbed him and tried to still him.

"Draco?"

"I need to get Madam Pomfrey…"

"Draco you need to sit down, you're in shock."

"I'm fine…I need to get Madam Pomfrey…" he pointed vaguely up the stairs, "he's hurt, Harry's with him…I need to get Madam Pomfrey…"

"Albus…" Minerva turned to try and get some support, only to find that Dumbledore had taken off up the stairs towards the portrait hole. A moment later she heard him call her name in a voice that made her leave Draco where he was and dash up the stairs.

*******

Harry gently lowered Ron back onto the pillows and climbed into the bed beside him, not caring about the blood that soaked into his T-shirt and chilled him. He drew Ron to his chest and held tightly. Gently he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Hold on, please Ron, just hold on for a little bit longer. Don't die on me…not now, not after everything else."

They had been through too much together. They were all supposed to be happy now. Ron wasn't supposed to be lying in a bed, dying alone in the dark. What had caused this? Harry hadn't spoken to him, but would that have been enough? If Harry had bothered to talk instead of walking away, would he still have done this?

Probably not.

"Ron, please wake up, please don't do this."

Dumbledore knocked on the door frame and entered immediately. He didn't speak; instead he prised Ron from Harry's arms and called McGonagall.

"Oh…oh Albus…"

"Now is not the time to lose your head Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly, "come here and take care of Harry. I trust Mr. Malfoy is on his way to fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes…yes he is." Minerva came around the bed and drew Harry up into her arms. She had never been known as a motherly woman, but she was fiercely loyal and loved her friends deeply. She had been through far too much with these two boys to consider them merely as students and as she wrapped her arms around Harry, her embrace was as warm as any he had ever received from Molly Weasley…or anyone else for that matter.

Harry's tears were soaking into her dressing gown as she watched Albus check Ron for signs of life.

"He's not…he's not dead is he Albus?"

"No," there was no sound of a smile in Dumbledore's voice, "but he is very close." He glanced at the door and hoped that Poppy wasn't far away.

********

Hermione opened her heavy eyelids and closed them again sleepily. Morning was definitely coming too soon these days. Her eyes fluttered open again and she smiled at the weight of an arm thrown across her chest, and the feeling of a long nose pressed somehow into her ear.

"Are you asleep?" she asked, suppressing a giggle as he snored softly by way of reply. "I guess that's a yes then?"

Severus mumbled something unintelligible and shifted, cuddling closer and causing Hermione to giggle again. Who would have ever taken Severus Snape for a snuggler? Hermione rolled her head, trying to make him out and all she found was a mass of black hair and an ear. She had a feeling that he may have taken a sleeping draught because he seemingly refused to wake up.

Hermione felt good. More than good, she felt incredible. She stretched and yawned and moved herself on to her side so that she could watch Severus bury his face in the pillow and snore. He seemed so peaceful, lying on his side and when she moved, he reached absently for her hand and squeezed lightly.

"When I came back to school this year, I was dreading you," she whispered. "All I could think was that you would spend another year telling me that I was silly and stupid and a know-it-all." She smiled and stroked his cheek lightly, "but you're not so hard. You're not hard at all."

"If you touch my cock," Snape mumbled into the pillow, "I think you'll find I'm very hard."

She looked down at him in surprise, "have you been awake this whole time?"

"No."

She heard the smile in his voice and pinched his shoulder hard, "Yes you have!"

"Oww! You little bitch!" he was laughing and she squealed as he sat up and grabbed her and rolling her onto the mattress.

"You fucking shit!"

"Language Miss Granger."

********

The decision was made to take Ron swiftly to the Infirmary, rather than have Madam Pomfrey hurry to the tower. Her reasoning was simple, as Madam Pomfrey explained to the out of breath and panicked Draco. Everything she needed was in the Infirmary, and it would be far better for the boy to be brought to her. Madam Pomfrey knew that the Infirmary was far more sanitary and she could better manage an efficient appraisal of Mr Weasley's condition in her own comfortable environment.

Draco had returned to the tower via a portrait hole that he could only wish he had known about before he had run the distance of the castle. Ron was taller than either Harry or Draco and they struggled to lift him onto the stretcher that Dumbledore had conjured. Harry pushed the thought that it was because he was dead weight out of his head. Draco on the other hand was swearing silently as he dumped Ron's feet unceremoniously onto the stretcher, almost upsetting the whole thing and sending him crashing to the floor. Minerva glared and turned away before she could snap something out at him.

They ducked through the portrait hole that led directly to the Infirmary where Madam Pomfrey stood waiting anxiously.

The Matron realised that she felt more anxious than she actually looked. She had been at Hogwarts for many long years and she had dealt with a large variety of things that would have had a Muggle running away screaming. But never something like this. There had been deaths at Hogwarts in the past. They were rare events, but they had happened. Suicide had never touched the castle…until now.

Wizard deaths were almost wholly characterized by a completely unmarked body. Curses left the smallest of scars; if any at all, and before the Death Eaters had turned to staves a year before, death in the Wizarding world had been a bloodless business.

Poppy knew that she was not prepared for this. Had it been an attack it would have been different. She was unprepared for the excess blood, exposed bone and the definite possibility of a young life slipping away if she failed. Poppy was horrified that he had done this willingly to himself.

She stayed herself and watched them bring Ron Weasley through the portrait hole, and she directed them towards a bed, far away from the three other occupants in the Infirmary.

"Up onto the bed," she said briskly and when Harry and Draco weren't fast enough she snapped at them to hurry up. She looked down at the pale, sallow face and found her hand fluttering to her mouth. He was so young to do something like this. What could have driven him to slice his own flesh open?

As gently as she could, Poppy stretched out Ron's arm to inspect the damage. The bone shone stark and white against the matted red gore of flesh and she fought back the urge to turn away from the sight. Young Draco Malfoy was looking decidedly green and without lifting her attention from the damage in front of her she said; "Minerva, would you please make Mr Malfoy lie down over there. I have some Navitas Serum in my office that I believe he needs promptly. Several drops in water isn't it Mr Malfoy?"

Draco blushed and shook his head, "I'm fine, it's just been a bit of a shock, nothing to worry about."

Minerva all but dragged him to the bed.

"I'm fine!"

"Please do as I say Mr Malfoy," Poppy ordered, "I don't need you collapsing on top of everything else."

Draco frowned and lay on the bed. Harry knew he was as pale as Draco, so why weren't they making such a big deal about his reaction? Harry's gaze shifted from Draco to watch as Professor McGonagall came back from Poppy's office with a glass of water and a small vial.

"I'm fine, really. It was only a little blood…"

"Just drink it please Draco," Minerva held out the water and Draco sat up, measured the potion into the glass and drank it down without even grimacing. Minerva looked at him a little sadly. She knew how bad the serum tasted, and it was a mark of how long Draco had been taking it; so used to the serum that he couldn't even taste it any more. Harry watched everything, looking confused. He stared questioningly at Minerva who in turn looked back down at Draco.

Severus had told her that Harry didn't know…and now probably wasn't the best time to enlighten him.

Poppy was tracing her wand down the length of one wound and whispering to the flesh. She watched as slowly, muscle and sinew began to knit back together. Blood vessels and veins all moved towards each other and stopped. Poppy tsked impatiently and tried again. The result was always the same. The wound began to repair itself and then the progress stopped.

Something else was bothering her. There was a smell to the boy, something that seemed to inhabit the blood itself. Not that the smell of blood was ever particularly good, but she thought she could detect something foreign, like an odour that was not natural to the human body. As though had some kind of potion in his system. She was on the verge of asking that someone fetch Severus Snape, but dismissed the idea as a foolish one. To wake the Potions Master just to come and smell someone's blood was a ridiculous notion, and there were already far too many people in the room as it was. Dumbledore and Minerva were hovering anxiously, while Potter looked as though he were caught between trying to see what was going on with his friend and rushing over to his lover. Poppy wished that he would do the latter, as his unblinking stare was making her nervous.

"Poppy?" Minerva asked, edging forward, "is there something wrong?" She stopped and frowned at her own stupidity. Of course there was something wrong! They were standing in an arc around a bed with the body of a boy she had watched go from a child to a man and who could now possibly die. There was something very, very wrong!

"The wound isn't closing as it should," Poppy explained darkly, "I think there is something in his blood that is impeding the healing process."

"A drug?" Harry asked. His voice was dry and cracked and when all eyes turned to him he just looked tired and drained.

"Do you know something Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, "something that could help?"

"He was taking something…some kind of drug, with needles…like a Muggle."

Poppy quickly began to inspect above and around the wounds. Yes, she could see them now. There, there and there. She traced a line of red puncture wounds up into his armpit and then beyond. With a wave of her wand and without hesitation, she stripped him naked and the group drew back in shock.

Harry's first inclination was to run for something to cover Ron with. Naked, he looked a thousand times worse and more vulnerable than he had before. His entire body seemed to be covered in bruises and tiny red marks from the needles he pushed into himself. He was painfully thin. Someone had abused him. There were bruises that were old and some that were horribly fresh. Harry could see a perfect imprint of a boot across his lower abdomen.

"Fuck me…" Draco breathed. He was sitting up on the bed and craning to see, "what the fuck happened to him?"

It was a question that everyone standing there would have dearly loved an answer to. If Harry could, he would find out who had done this and he would be off to find them now. Anything to get out of this room and away from the mess that had once been his closest friend. But he couldn't leave, and he knew that at that moment, he couldn't even think straight. In his minds eye he could see Ron as he had once been. The skinny kid who had befriended Harry on a magical train, who had set up a chess game and sacrificed himself so that Harry could move forward. Ron, the friend who had rescued him in a flying car, and who'd walked into a cavern of spiders just because Harry had asked him to. The one person who had always tried to protect him, who never shied away from any danger, and who had pulled him away from countless summers with the Dursleys. The first person to call him friend and the one who had opened a whole new world to Harry.

Ron who was now dying because at the first sign of trouble, Harry had turned away and thought only of himself.

Draco slid off the bed and moved in behind Harry, embracing him and resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. He was staring at Ron, more stunned than he thought he could be.

"Did you know?" Draco whispered, kissing Harry's throat.

"I…I thought, um, yeah, I guess I knew he was taking something." Harry tensed, "I didn't know it was this bad." He tried to shrug Draco off but his lover held on to him tightly.

"You weren't to know," Draco said, and then continued, "this is not your fault."

"I should have done something. I noticed and I did nothing."

Draco was shaking his head against Harry's shoulder, "it's not your fault, Harry," Draco said. "He was being an arsehole. He pushed you away first. You had no reason to feel any pity for him."

Harry didn't answer, but he stared straight ahead at Ron's body and focused his whole body on what Madam Pomfrey was doing.

*********

Curator Semeuse awoke as the sun was penetrating London's gloom and filtering through the double glass doors of his bed chamber. With a flick of his wand the curtains flew open and tied themselves back neatly. Light suddenly flooded the room, as beautiful and as glorious as any Tuscan sunrise. Semeuse reclined back into his pillows and smiled contentedly. Only the best would do for when his Angel awoke.

Within seconds of the contented smile crossing his face, the Curator was served his tea by a House Elf who offered him a copy of the Daily Prophet, which he declined. The tea however, was excellent and Semeuse drank it quietly before turning his attention to the sleeping form beside him.

Lucius was indeed sleeping peacefully. He had curled himself on the very edge of the bed, as far away from the Curator as he could manage to get without falling out. His heavy hair filled the void between them, and it was so long now and growing at such an unnatural rate, that even if Semeuse cut it back by half it would still reach his Angels thighs. But to cut it would be akin to desecrating perfection and Semeuse would never bring himself to do such a thing. He pulled back the covers to expose the lean body beneath.

 _Beautiful._

He traced his fingers lightly down the length of Lucius' body, taking in the gentle curve of his spine, his boney hip and the newly formed muscles in his legs. Gently, lightly enough not to wake him, Semeuse kissed the knobbly bone at the top of his shoulder. The flesh beneath his lips was warm and smooth. Lucius felt fresh and clean, and only the excess hair seemed to give any indication that it hadn't been washed recently.

"It is time to wake up my darling," the Curator whispered and the body tensed as the Angels eyes snapped open. Semeuse stroked his cheek, soothing him gently, "shh, relax my darling. I am going to have some breakfast brought up for you."

Not that Lucius would ever eat so much as a mouthful in front of him, but Semeuse always kept his hope. He usually found that if he left Lucius alone for an extended period of time that he would eat at least some of the food that was left for him. Through trial and error he had discovered that it was best to cut anything into small pieces. Lucius had little control over his body and his jaw would often fall open. Actually forcing himself to chew took an enormous effort and thus the smaller the pieces, the more likely Lucius was to actually finish it.

"Are you hungry my darling heart?" He rolled Lucius onto his back and propped him up in the pillows, then retrieved a clean nightshirt from his tallboy and dressed the Angel before the House Elf returned with his breakfast. He brushed as much of the Angel's hair as he could, pulling it back from his face and tying it with a white ribbon. He looked presentable enough for a House Elf, even if his head did keep falling forward and he was dribbling. Semeuse lifted his face and wiped his chin, tutting as he did so.

"I will leave you to have your breakfast," he said cheerfully when the Elf arrived with the tray, "and later I will come back to give you a bath." He traced a finger along his Angels jaw. "Your hair is dirty, so we are going to have to wash it today."

He took his leave reluctantly, taking a last look at Lucius' vacant stare and noticing with some dismay that he was drooling again. He closed the door behind him and set off to his bathroom to ready himself for the day.

Lucius blinked, and blinked again. His eyes seemed to clear and they drifted across his lap to the plate of food that had been placed beside him. His hand shifted slowly, moving clumsily and dislodging most of what was on the plate to the mattress. His fingers closed around a small piece of pastry that Lucius then painstakingly lifted to his mouth. It took a great deal more effort that the Semeuse realised, and once he had managed to get the food into his mouth, his hand fell uselessly back to the plate.

Lucius chewed slowly, dribbling most of his breakfast down the front of his nightshirt. It took him an hour to eat half of the croissant, and after that he was too tired to continue trying. He closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows, waiting for his tormentor to return.

*********

Poppy discovered that with a few well chosen ingredients, she could seal the wounds in Ron's arms temporarily, at least until they could get him to the specialists at St Mungo's. She was also wondering if perhaps they should Enervate him, to try and bring him out of the comatose state he was currently in. She wanted to know that he was still able to function, or if there had been some kind of lasting damage.

Minerva had pulled a sheet out of the cupboard and was unfolding it, getting ready to throw it over Ron's body. There was no point keeping him exposed, and it was cold in the room, despite the fire.

"Should we _Enervate_ him?" she asked after a while, "get his blood moving around a bit?"

Poppy nodded swiftly. The boy was horribly cold and clammy to her touch, and he needed his circulation to be working in order to heal. "He might not react well to waking up, and we might have to hold him down."

"Not a Body Bind, surely?"

"No, Minerva, we can hold him physically, and it will probably panic him a lot less."

Dumbledore drew Harry around to the top of the bed and smiled, "I want you to hold his hands above his head for me."

Draco and Minerva held his feet.

Arthur and Molly Weasley came rushing into the room just as Dumbledore cried _"Enervate!"_

The effect was instant and awful. Ron convulsed, coughed and convulsed again. His eyes shot open, wide and confused and he began to struggle, instinctively thrashing out at the people holding him down. His focus did not seem to fix on any one person, and he was looking wildly about the room. Harry wasn't sure that Ron even recognised a single person there. Finally he keened out a long, high pitched wail.

"Calm down Ron," Dumbledore said gently, but to no avail Ron wrenched his arm out of Harry's grasp and desperately began to claw at his other arm, trying to tear apart the newly joined skin.

"I have to get to Charlie!" he cried, panicked, "I have to find Charlie and make it better…"

"In order for you to make things better, Ron, you need to calm down now!" Harry pleaded.

"No! No! I have to find Charlie, I have to…"

Harry fought to hold Ron's arms, amazed at how much strength he possessed. With his hands restrained, he lashed out with his feet, catching Minerva in the hip and Draco in the stomach. The sheet that Minerva had placed over him was dislodged and it slid to the floor.

*

Molly and Arthur had been seemingly rooted to the spot with horror, and then the sheet slid from his body and Molly screamed. Minerva rushed over to them, realising for the first time that they were actually there. Molly had gone white, and her lips were the colour of fresh parchment.

"I did this," Molly's voice was full of air, "I did this to him!"

Arthur didn't argue with her. He watched as one of his son's wounds ruptured under Harry's grip and revealed the full extent of the damage done. He couldn't move, but he allowed Minerva to restrain his distraught wife who was charging forward to her youngest sons hospital bed.

 _"What are they doing to him?"_ Molly screamed.

"They are trying to save him," Arthur replied, "just stay where you are and let them do what they need to do."

*

"Ron," Harry was saying, holding Ron's arms firmly and not caring that the scars had ruptured, "Ron, look at me!"

Ron's eyes rolled up in his head and locked on to Harry.

"Ron, you have to stop struggling; we are trying to help you."

"Harry?" Ron actually smiled, a smile of relief, "I have to find Charlie, please…please let me find him."

"It's too late to find Charlie now Ron. Charlie would be very angry with you if you found him now."

"But…" Ron's eyes flooded with tears, "I have to, I have to make things better."

"I don't think that you finding Charlie is going to make things better Ron."

"But…it will make them…happy."

"No, no Ron, it would make people sad. Very sad."

"Where's bear?"

Harry looked confused. "Who is bear?"

"He…he was with me…where's pirate bear?"

Harry remembered the blood soaked teddy bear on the floor of Ron's room. "Bear is safe. He's in your bed, safe and sound."

"He gets frightened without me."

"Well, I'll go and get him, but you have to calm down first."

Ron began to still and then he looked at Dumbledore and strained towards him. "Please," he whispered, "please let me find Charlie…"

Harry looked away and caught Molly Weasley's eye. The woman who had been a mother to Harry was staring in horror at the sight in front of her, and her face was a mask of guilt and pain. She looked at Harry and tried to speak, but all she could say was "I'm sorry," over and over again, as though she knew it would never be enough.

*

Dumbledore had sent Harry and Draco back to bed, with promises of waking Harry in time to go to St. Mungo's with Hermione. And so, despite his initial argument, Harry slept. He wasn't certain how he'd managed to do so, but the lull of Draco's breathing, the warmth of his skin and the solid beat of his heart beneath Harry's palm had become hypnotic, and after a time, Harry had fallen asleep to its rhythmic beat. By the time Harry awoke, Ron had been transferred to St. Mungo's and Professor McGonagall was informing Hermione about the events overnight. Ginny was being hastily roused by her father and she wouldn't believe it at first, even when Arthur took her from the castle and they made their way to the hospital in London.

When Harry opened his eyes, light was streaming into the room and he sat up, momentarily disorientated and panicking that it was too late. Draco grumbled and rolled over and for the briefest moment Harry enjoyed the feel of Draco shifting his long limbs beside him. Draco was here, alive and whole. He could live forever as long as that one constant remained. Harry stroked Draco's soft hair lovingly and then slipped out of the bed, padding silently to the wardrobe to grab clothes and toiletries to take with him to the bathroom. He desperately needed a shower, he was covered in Ron's dried blood and part of him couldn't believe that he'd slept that way.

"Were you going to wake me up and tell me that you were going?"

Harry froze, unable to stop the strange sensation of guilt, as though he had just been caught doing something wrong. Something in Draco's voice was accusing and spiteful.

"Of course I was," Harry said quickly. "I'll be back later anyway."

Draco sat up and glared at him. "So you're going to the hospital?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I?"

"There's nothing you can do there. Wouldn't it be best to leave him to the healers and his family, until he wakes up?"

Harry stared at him, open mouthed and incredulous, "If it was me, would you go to the hospital?"

"I think that this is a little different to that scenario."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. You're my lover. You're the person I love and want to spend my life with. You didn't just spend the last few months making me out to be a dirty queer and tormenting me."

"He was sick Draco!"

"Bullshit!" Draco swung his legs out of bed. "He wasn't sick, he was willingly injecting himself with drugs!"

"It wasn't his fault."

"Then whose fault was it?"

"I don't know!"

"For Merlin's sake Harry, he's spent months being a complete fuckwit. I mean, I don't give a fuck if it is true that he slept with his sister-in-law, but to turn around and put all that moral shit on us for our choices – just to cover the fact that his own were so fucked up, is fucking wrong!" Draco looked angrily at Harry, unable to stop the words that were now flying out of his mouth, "and now, when he gets found out and everyone is pissed at him, what does he do? He cuts himself up to get some fucking sympathy!"

"DON'T!" Harry yelled, "don't say anything else."

"Why not?" Draco demanded. "It's true! And it's working. Look at yourself, Harry. You can't stop yourself from running to poor ickle Ronnikins! He doesn't need sympathy. He needs to fucking wake up to himself, realise he did it all himself, and get the fuck over it!"

"You don't know what it was like!"

"What what was like?"

"The war. You don't know how hard it was!"

"And what does that have to do with it?" Draco sneered, "Let me guess. You're going to blame Voldemort because Ron Weasley fucked his sister-in-law?"

"It did things to us, and it left us weak. You wouldn't fucking know because you spent the whole fucking war hiding in your Manor like a fucking little coward! You know nothing about what kind of pain and loss it left behind!"

Draco looked amazed, "you think I know nothing about pain and loss?"

"What did you lose?" Harry asked bitterly. "You have everything shoved at you on a platter, just like you always have."

Draco paled and went silent, and he seemed on the verge of letting Harry leave when he finally said in a quiet hiss, "I lost as much as anyone else did. I just didn't choose to go and play the sympathy card to get into everyone's affections."

"No, you didn't, because no one would give a rats arse if you dropped dead tomorrow." Harry spat.

Draco stared at Harry bristling with anger and malice. "If that's how you feel then perhaps you had better go to the hospital. I'd hate to hold a selfish little shit like you up."

**********  
Hermione sat down to breakfast with a contented smile on her face and a nagging feeling in her heart that this happiness could never last. She was after all, eighteen and Severus; some twenty years her senior, would surely tire of her eventually. She asked herself, for the first time, exactly what he saw in her. As adult as she felt, Hermione knew that she acted her age most of the time – and Severus despised eighteen year olds as a general rule. So what did he see in her? Youth and exuberance? Severus hated youth and exuberance.

But still, all was well for now and perhaps she should count her blessings and not question it.

Lavender was already at the table when Hermione arrived. She looked red eyed and miserable, as though she had spent the entire night crying.

"Are you alright? What happened?" Hermione asked anxiously. It was a drawback staying with Severus because it meant that she wasn't there for her friends if anything went wrong, and by the look of Lavender, something had most certainly gone wrong.

"It's nothing," Lavender sniffled, drawing out her handkerchief and blowing her nose, "I had a bad night, that's all."

"Your date with Ernie didn't go well?"

Lavender looked sideways at her and began to sniffle loudly. She blew her nose again and dabbed her eyes, "No," she said in a cracked voice, "it did not go well." She tried to smile bravely but only succeeded in looking more miserable. "He turned up half an hour late…and when he did he was with this woman. They've been seeing each other for months. The bastard couldn't work out how to tell me, so he thought he'd show me instead."

Hermione's mouth fell open and her hands flew to her face, "but that's…that's terrible!"

"Yeah well, I should be used to shit like that by now. Every boyfriend I've ever had has been a fucking prick in the end."

Hermione stared at her friend in horror. How many boyfriends could she possibly have had? Did they all end like that? She cast a quick glance at Severus and shivered…'would they end like that'? "Oh Lav, I'm so sorry."

Lavender dabbed her eyes again and took a deep breath. "It's alright, I'm a big girl. I'll get over it, eh?"

Hermione put her arm around Lavender's shoulders, hugged her tight as Lavender half laughed and choked back a sob.

"So how was your dinner?" Lavender smiled, deciding to be brave. She was perfectly aware that this was Hermione's first boyfriend, and she really shouldn't give her such a bad impression of dating. If men weren't such arseholes, she would probably have an easier time of it.

"Well," Hermione said slowly, "the restaurant was crap. I don't know who chose it, but wow, they need a serious re-think about romance." She thought wildly for some interesting titbit from the restaurant, "Oh yeah! We had to sit on this giant condom box! And I had the worst drink in the world, but then…" she lowered her voice, "then Severus got me something decent, so that was ok."

"OK," Lavender sniffled, "cut through dinner, was the sex any good?"

"The sex is always good."

"Believe me, you will have bad sex at some point."

Hermione fell silent. Perhaps discussing her Valentine's Day activities with Lavender wasn't such a brilliant idea given her present state of mind? "Um…I…"

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall, almost welcoming the interruption. She smiled, "Professor?"

"Could you come with me dear, I need to have a word with you."

Hermione looked nervously to Severus and then back to McGonagall, "Am…am I in trouble Professor?"

"No!" Minerva swallowed and restrained herself from pulling out a handkerchief. She looked at Lavender Brown and realised that she very much felt the way Miss Brown looked. "No Miss Granger, you are not in trouble. I just need to speak with you privately, that's all."

Once again Hermione looked to Severus who frowned questioningly at Minerva. She gave Lavender one last squeeze and followed Professor McGonagall from the Great Hall to her office.

"Hermione," Minerva tried to smile reassuringly but felt too tired and drained to make it look convincing, "perhaps you should sit down dear."

Hermione stood awkwardly for a moment, "you're not going to expel me are you?"

Minerva opened and closed her mouth, unable to comprehend how a single person could be so incredibly obsessed with school. "No Hermione, nothing like that. Please, sit down."

Hermione lowered herself into the offered chair and fidgeted nervously.

"There has been a…an accident…" Minerva looked away, not really wanting to do this. Perhaps she should get Severus, at least he could comfort the girl.

Had she not been in such a bad frame of mind, Minerva decided that she would have found the situation laughable. The mere thought that Severus Snape could comfort a distraught girl.

"An accident?" Hermione grew pale, "Is it Harry? Is he alright?"

"Harry is fine Hermione; he's just fine. I'm afraid that the one who has been hurt is Mr Weasley."

 _"Ron?"_

Five minutes later, with all explained, Hermione ran from the office and mounted the stairs to the tower. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. Ron wouldn't do something like that…Ron was stronger than that.

Harry was waiting for her in the Common Room looking pale, drawn and miserable. "Are you coming to the hospital with me?" He asked, his voice dry, flat and plain.

In that moment she knew it was true. She knew that Ron had hurt himself, knew that everything had fallen apart for him and that neither she nor Harry had been there to help him pick up the pieces. She had been too preoccupied, too intent on her own happiness to think about Ron. She had noticed something, and she had said something to Harry once, then with everything else she had forgotten about it. And now Ron was paying for it.

"I…"

"I know," said Harry quietly. He pulled her to him and hugged her tightly, trying to draw on her strength as much as she was trying to draw on his. "It's not supposed to be like this," he whispered, "we're supposed to be happy. It's all over now. We're supposed to be happy and free."

Hermione cried then, allowing herself to dissolve into tears while she could, knowing that she would have to be strong later. She buried her face in Harry's neck and cried, taking comfort in the feeling of his arms and his warmth. They stayed that way, supporting each other's shaking frames, until Dumbledore arrived to take them to St. Mungo's

*******

"You would not believe what I saw last night," Semeuse was saying conversationally as he massaged Gilderoy Lockhart's Natural Blond Hair Dream into Lucius' scalp. Lucius sat in the bath of hot water, supported by a makeshift backrest of Semeuse's own design. He looked uninterested at the conversation, but the Curator continued regardless. Leaving the Hair Dream to cure, he lifted one of Lucius' arms and began to lather.

"It was your friend, that Professor from Hogwarts, what was his name? Snape?" Semeuse smiled as Lucius' eyebrow twitched slightly and his eyes flickered minutely with interest.

"He was quite busy I must say, all over this young girl in the doorway to a public building. Her taste is questionable to say the least, and he really is the most vile looking man I have ever had the displeasure to meet (not like you my Angel) but then, perhaps he had used the Imperius curse on her. But then, she did appear to be enjoying his attentions."

Lucius blinked and Semeuse scrubbed his armpit.

"The most interesting thing was that the girl is a student! She is a friend of your son Draco. I saw her in the Edrasil. Now, I wonder what the Ministry and the School Governors will think of a Professor, and Head of House so I'm told, having sex with one of his students? I don't believe they would consider it particularly ethical, do you?"

He bowed Lucius forward and poured water over his head to rinse out the Hair Dream. In truth he had been looking for a way to avenge himself on Snape, ever since he had come to the museum and flatly refused to help Semeuse acquire Lucius on a more permanent basis. The man was also Draco's Godfather, and was no doubt going to prove a problem when it came time for him to 'acquire' the boy.

"I think with some information like that, Professor Snape won't be a problem for much longer."

"Leave him alone."

Semeuse sat back in astonishment. Lucius had not spoken, his lips had not moved and yet his voice was very clear. It was as though it had sounded inside the Curators head. He lifted Lucius' chin with his forefinger.

"Did you just say something my Angel?"

"Leave Severus alone."

Semeuse smiled, feeling more joy than he had felt in half a century wash through him. "So you can talk my darling one!" It wasn't as though Lucius was really talking as such, but he was communicating, and Semeuse could hear him quite clearly.

"I hate you."

Far from being upset by this declaration Semeuse seemed overjoyed. "Oh Lucius, my darling. There is such a fine line between love and hate. They are both such intense emotions, and how can one exist without the other? In time, my darling, you will learn to appreciate me."

"Where is my wife? She is not in the exhibition. Is she still in Azkaban?"

Semeuse almost felt sorry to tell his Angel the truth, but the wife was nothing to him, and a rival for his affections. "Your wife is dead my darling," he said quietly. "It was a terrible shame, breaking up a set like that, but then, she was not blood was she? She was only related by marriage."

Lucius fell silent again, apparently digesting the news and Semeuse feared he would not speak again.

"Don't fret beautiful one. I will have Draco here soon enough and then you will have one of your own here to love."

"Don't touch my son."

Semeuse smiled, "Oh but darling, I want to see you both together, and he is particularly receptive to Imperius. Imagine his mouth on you my Angel, his mouth trailing all over you, and his body against and in yours. There would not be many sights sweeter than that."

"Don't touch my son."

"You can't stop me Lucius," the Curator continued, suddenly serious, "I don't know how you've managed this wonderful feat, but you are essentially powerless, and broken mirrors or shattered cases are not going to hold me off for long. I know what I want, and I like to get what I want."

Lucius was silent again and Semeuse poured more water over his head, removing the last of the soap. After a long time the voice returned, but it was stronger now, drawling in a lazy sort of way.

"Perhaps we could make a deal," said Lucius.

"A deal? Semeuse moved around the tub to fetch a towel, "what kind of deal would you like to make my Angel?"

"If you leave my son alone, I will learn to…appreciate…you a great deal faster."

Semeuse crouched beside the tub again and lifted the Angel's chin to look him in the eye. "How much faster is faster?"

He could almost see the strain of effort on his Angel's face and he heard the water being broken as Lucius raised his hand with excruciating slowness. Lucius pressed his palm flat against the curator's cheek in a lovers caress.

"Almost immediate," said the voice.

**********  
Please go to part 2


	35. Breathe Part 2

_Chapter 15 - Part 2_

**********

The walls of Snape's office were lined with shelves full of jars of Merlin only knew what. It was not a place that many students would have felt comfortable. There had even been wild rumours that he kept the pickled head of a student in one of those jars. No doubt a story made up by a Slytherin seventh year to terrify the first years. As Draco stared idly at what looked like a Kappa embryo floating silently in its jar, Draco couldn't help but see why it was all so widely believed. Who in their right mind kept a floating Kappa embryo in their office?

He had skipped his Transfiguration lesson, pleading that he was far too distraught about the poor Weasel's dreadful accident and of course McGonagall had believed him. She seemed so upset herself about it that Draco was sure she would have made it a national day of mourning if she could…and the selfish git wasn't even dead! Draco figured that he was so far advanced of most people in Transfiguration that he could afford to skip the class. Draco also knew that Snape had that period free – and for some ridiculous reason, he felt like talking to Snape.

He turned from the jars and wandered aimlessly for a moment, well, as aimlessly as one could wander in a circular room. After a while the cold began to irritate him, so he lit the fire and slumped into a chair near by to wait for the Potions Master to finish his class and return to his office.

It didn't take long. Severus Snape was usually keen to escape a class full of first years and he slammed his way into his office in such a temper that Draco almost regretted coming. Upon seeing Draco he did not look entirely pleased, but he stopped himself from muttering under his breath and seemed to calm down considerably.

"To what do I owe the honour Draco? Aren't you supposed to be in your Transfiguration class?"

"Did you hear about Weasel?" Draco asked, not getting up from his place in front of the fire.

"If you are referring to Mr. Weasley, yes, news of his unfortunate…accident has reached me."

"And?"

Snape glared, "and what? Am I supposed to feel some particular emotion about it?"

"No!" Said Draco, and then under his breath, "exactly…" He looked up at Snape and to Snape's great dismay, he looked distressed. "Harry and I had a fight about it."

Snape swallowed hard. _Oh dear god, he's come to me for relationship advice._ Snape made a non committal sound in his throat.

"And Harry stormed out."

Snape wondered how he could extract himself from the conversation…and then wondered what Lucius would say.

"He said I knew nothing about pain or loss…and that if I died tomorrow no one would miss me." Draco chewed his thumb, then continued, "he said I was a coward because I hid during the war…I guess he's right."

Snape sat opposite Draco and steepled his fingers. He knew of course exactly what Lucius would do in this situation. Set off after Potter, where he would hex him to death for having the audacity to say such things to his precious spoiled brat of a son.

But Draco was not a precious spoiled brat, not any more. Draco was also alarmingly like his father, a veneer as hard as a diamond that covered a vulnerability that was truly pathetic to behold.

Then again, Snape had spent his morning having his name associated with various forms of the word 'Snuggles', so who was the pathetic one? He cleared his throat and addressed Draco in the most fatherly manner that he could muster.

"I would suggest that perhaps Potter did not know what he was saying."

"Harry knew what he was saying." Draco folded his arms across his chest and slumped still further in his chair.

"Potter has a habit of not thinking about more than one crisis at a time," Snape smiled, "although I have to say; you must have really pissed him off to make him say that. But, what is that old Muggle saying? Each man hurts the thing he loves?"

"I think it's _'kills'."_

"Well, let's hope he doesn't go that far."

"Besides, I don't think Harry loves me any more."

 _Oh good grief, someone just kill me now._ Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to find a happy thought. "Don't be ridiculous Draco." He sighed, "I am not in the habit of counselling students on their love lives."

"But I'm not just your student…am I?"

"No, you're not." He stared at Draco a little awkwardly, and suddenly realised that he just wasn't any good at this sort of thing. Had Draco gone to Flitwick or Sinistra he'd have enough sentimental advice to fill volumes. But instead Draco had come to him and he was lost for words. Finally he decided that telling the truth was probably the best thing he could do. "I personally find Mr Potter abhorrent, however, I am certain of one thing, Potter, little hero that he is, is in love with you. Don't doubt it, don't think about it and for pity's sake, don't bring it up with me again. Just accept it as fact and get on with it."

 _Not bad Severus, you're getting good at this sentimental drivel._

Draco was fairly gaping. He worked his jaw a few times before frowning at his godfather. "You worked with him fairly closely during the war didn't you?"

"Unfortunately."

"And there really isn't anything at all that you like about him?"

"Not particularly, no."

"But you saved him a few times, he told me you did. Why did you do that if you didn't see something in him that you liked?"

"I had a duty to protect him, and he was a necessary weapon."

Draco frowned harder. A weapon. Harry had referred to himself as such, usually when he was tired and depressed or feeling vulnerable. "A weapon was all he was?"

"Basically."

"Were you one of the people who wanted to destroy him after the war?"

Snape looked into Draco's grey eyes and wondered just how a Malfoy could have fallen so hard for the Gryffindor hero. There was also the fact that Potter knew about the plan to 'dismantle' him. "So he knows about that? He's more perceptive than I gave him credit for."

"Were you one of them?" Draco insisted.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose again. He would have dearly loved to say that yes he was, but he was telling the truth now and he saw no reason to stop. "No," he said, "I wasn't. I spent enough time and effort ensuring he survived the war, and I thought it would have been a waste to see him killed by his own side."

"And every time you look into his eyes you see his mother. He has his mother's eyes doesn't he?"

 _Damn you Lucius, was nothing ever sacred with you._ Of course he knew the answer to that. Lucius thought the sun rose and fell with Draco; he told him everything. "Everyone has secrets Draco, don't push me."

"Why did people want to kill him? He saved their arses, so why would they want him dead?"

"People are afraid of power Draco." Snape began to pace, "Dumbledore made sure that Potter was extremely powerful, more powerful than even he knows and people were afraid of it. They feared that once he had grown, that he would grow to like the power…and become another Dark Lord. Let's face it, who wouldn't flock to Harry Potter's banner? He'd amass an army in no time and bring our world to it's knees if he wanted to."

"But he wouldn't do that!"

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but it took Albus Dumbledore a good long time to convince the Ministry of that." Snape hesitated and then added, "of course, his connection with you is not really helping that cause, but I am fairly certain that they'll leave him alone."

Draco reclined back into the chair and looked up at the dusty ceiling. "He deserves better than that." Draco set his jaw hard and sneered, "the whole fucking Wizarding World can just fuck off. When school is finished I'm taking him with me and he is going to lead a long and happy life without all this bullshit."

"And what about your father?"

Draco fell still and bowed his head. "My father wants me to be happy."

Snape looked surprised. "Then am I to assume that we should stop this search for the potion?"

Draco closed his eyes and felt the first traces of a stress head ache start at the back of his skull. "No…I can't leave him like that."

"Then you plan on telling Potter everything?

Draco looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I don't know what I am going to do."

"Then perhaps you have some things to think about. In the meantime might I suggest that we need to keep an eye on Archibald Semeuse. We need to know what is going on in that Museum…and we need to know that Lucius is safe."

"How safe can he be?" Draco asked bitterly, "apparently he's being raped by some lecherous old shit."

"I'm working on that."

"So what are you suggesting for now?"

"A spy."

Draco considered this and, feeling a little foolish, asked; "what kind of spy?"

"One that watches what is going on and reports back to us Draco," Snape snorted impatiently, "what other kind of spy is there?"

"Who?"

"Well, that I don't know. I'll think of something."

"And what about Regina Vermoral?" Draco asked, not really certain if he wanted to know the answer.

"All being well, we should meet Miss Vermoral on Saturday."

**********

Hermione returned to the castle during the lunch break, planning to pack a few things into an over night bag and leave a quick note for Severus. As an after thought she also packed several textbooks. She figured that she would probably get little to no sleep that night, and if she was going to be sitting in the waiting room as she had all morning, she may as well be productive. She had a report due on Memory Charms due the next week and she could probably get a good start on it.

After locating everything she needed, and packing a few magazines for the others to read, (the ones at the hospital all seemed to date back to before she was born) she looked at her watch and was dismayed to find that the lunch break was almost over. She had actually hoped to see Severus and not just leave him a note, but she would have to find him first and by the time she did he would probably have to head back to class. She sighed and realised that she would only just have time to stammer out a goodbye and that would be it.

She found some parchment and quickly and sat down to write a note.

"How are you?"

She almost leapt out of her skin in shock and then her shock turned into a smile of delight. Severus slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Minerva said that she'd seen you come back, and that you are returning to the hospital. I didn't think you'd have time to find me."

She smiled with pleasure. "I thought I should stay. I don't want to be the last to know if anything happens, and they all need some support at the moment." She stopped and bowed her head and when she looked back up at him. She looked troubled. "I just can't understand what happened. I mean, I know he's been a bit…odd…lately, but I had no idea. I've known Ron for so long now and he always seemed ok, you know, stable. I know this sounds awful, but if it was Harry I would have understood it more, because he gets these fits of melancholy. Harry can get so incredibly depressed…but Ron…" Hermione shook her head. "Ron was always so normal, like he could face anything…"

"Sometimes people hide things so deep inside that no one can see the truth."

"But we should have seen it coming. Harry and I should have seen it." Hermione looked away. She hated to admit it, but since the day that Ron had accused her of being with Draco, Hermione hadn't spoken two words to him. She hadn't even tried. Her head had been full of Severus and Krum and Harry and Draco. With Ron acting so nastily, she hadn't even given him a second thought. "I should have been paying more attention," she finished miserably.

Snape sat beside her and drew her close. "Hermione, you can't blame yourself for someone else's actions. From what Minerva told me, Weasley set his own path to self destruction."

"Yes…but he may have had some help with his actions." She told Severus about the mystery drug and about Angelina, a fact of which Snape was already well aware. Minerva had filled him on every detail.

"Hermione, you can't play mother to them forever. You can't be everywhere. You are not all seeing and all knowing," he smiled thinly, "no matter how much you would like to be."

She turned her face and kissed his pale cheek. "I know…but I can't help it, they've always been there for me."

He kissed her, lightly at first, just a gentle brush across her lips and then the kiss deepened as she melted into his warmth, desperate for comfort and consolation. Hermione pulled away from him and smiled, and then laid back, pulling him to the bed with her, knowing that there was no time for this, but just wanting to feel the comfort of his weight on top of her. He went willingly, finding her mouth again and sliding his hands down the length of her body, caressing her jean clad thighs.

"You had to be wearing jeans didn't you?" He murmured into her mouth and Hermione surprised herself by laughing quietly.

"It's cold outside." She kissed him again, "and you have a class to teach, so it wouldn't do to get you all excited."

It was too late for that and they both knew it. His cock pressed hard into her groin, making them both ache for it and he was kissing her again, harder now and desperate, making her dizzy.

The door opened suddenly and Hermione shrieked. Lavender gaped from the doorway, not knowing what to look at first when it came to the tangle of arms, limbs, hair and Snape that was piled onto Hermione's bed.

"I…I am so sorry!" Lavender ducked back out the door and slammed it shut, but not before they heard a snigger and then a snort of embarrassed laughter.

Severus scrambled off Hermione, straightening his robes and his hair, checking to see if everything was…tucked away neatly.

"It's alright," Hermione sat up on the bed, laughing at the expression of pure panic on his face, "Lavender knows."

"She _what?"_

"She knows. Who do you think gets me so dressed up to go out with you?"

This was all too much for Snape to take in. Not only had he just been caught rolling around like a naughty student, it now appeared that half the student populous knew exactly what he was doing with the schools star pupil.

Not that Lavender Brown was half the student populous, but he didn't know if she was a gossip or not.

"I should go, I've got classes."

"Are you pissed off with me?"

"No, of course not." He leaned down to kiss her goodbye, "you'll be back tomorrow?"

"I should be, and when I am, I'll give you some good 'lovin'."

Snape chuckled softly and opened the door, checking outside for students he found only Miss Brown sitting near the fire sniggering to herself. He turned back to Hermione. "I might just hold you to that."

"I was counting on it," Hermione winked, "Snuggles."

Snape blanched and then closed the door behind him.

*********

Classes had dragged that day. Without Harry to distract him, Draco found himself bored and listless. He knew most of what he needed to know to actually pass his NEWTS; the long day seemed nothing more than revision. By the end of it, he found himself wishing that he had taken Dumbledore up on his offer and missed all of them and not just Transfiguration. He could have happily taken a sleeping draught and spent the whole day in bed. But anger had propelled him from his room and down into the main school. Anger that had, admittedly, died as the day dragged on.

Without Harry, people seemed to suddenly grow backbones. The whispers and stares in the Great Hall became more prominent. Enough of what happened that morning with Weasley had been kept quiet, so aside from the idea that he had taken ill during the night, it wasn't a talking point. The fact that Draco was walking around without Harry was.

"So, did Potter finally come to his senses and dump you?"

"Fuck off Creevy."

"So the Malfoy arse not all it's cracked up to be?"

"Eat shit and die Goldstein."

Draco found himself walking a fine line, aching to hex anyone in his path and not being able to do it. He and Harry had not parted on the best of terms, and it would probably only cause more arguments if Harry returned to news that Draco had knobbled half the school. Draco wasn't a fool and his main interest at that moment was to preserve what he held dear, what he truly wanted.

Unfortunately what he held dear and truly wanted at that moment contradicted each other in the worst possible way. Harry and Lucius. His father and Harry. Which ever way he looked at it, the combination was just not compatible.

But he had to make it work…somehow.

As classes came to an end Draco returned to his room, debating with himself on whether he should go down to dinner (no doubt Lavender would keep him company) or just go to bed. He was tired, his head was throbbing and he just wanted to lie down and forget that today had ever happened.

He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A feeling akin to a thousand butterflies fluttered in his stomach and he found himself chewing his lip. He and Harry always argued, and this time was no different. But Harry had been more pissed off than Draco had seen him in a long time.

And now he was with the Weasley's, who could possibly be pointing out the various evils in his choice of Draco as a partner. And if Draco knew Fred Weasley at all (and he was fairly certain that he did) the man would be all over Harry like some kind of insidious rash. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it.

He did not hear the fire roar to life, he was too busy creatively subjecting Fred Weasley to a particularly nasty level of Hell.

"You look pretty tempting like that."

Draco sat up with a yelp and found himself staring straight at Harry. Well, not all of Harry, just Harry's head, sitting just above the flames.

"Hi baby," Draco rubbed his eyes a little, "how's Wease….Ron?"

"He's asleep," said Harry quietly, "but he's out of danger."

"Well…that's good then."

"Yeah." Harry was looking bone tired. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to stay in London tonight."

Draco frowned, "At the hospital?"

"No, at my house. It's close to the hospital, so the whole family can stay there and get some sleep."

"Oh." For some reason Draco felt the butterflies in his stomach increase. He had never been to Harry's house, he didn't even know where it was and he knew that he'd never find it, even if he did go looking; Harry had a Secret Keeper. Yet the Weasley's were all welcome to stay. He could only guess that perhaps it still wasn't prudent to let a Malfoy know about it. "When will you come back?"

"Tomorrow, I'll come back early, I promise."

Draco nodded sullenly and asked, "What time are you leaving the hospital?"

"I don't know, late I guess. Why?"

"I thought I might go to the hospital."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"There is nothing for you here, they aren't your family, you don't even like them."

Draco swallowed and looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. "I was coming to see you, not them."

"Well, if you want to…" Harry sounded a little reluctant.

"Don't worry, forget I mentioned it. I'll see you tomorrow anyway, right?"

"Yeah, I'll come early."

Draco forced a smile, "okay, well, I'll see you then."

"Bye, sleep well."

And then Harry was gone. Draco sat staring at the fire for a few seconds before bringing his knees up to his chin and rocking back and forth, wondering how he was supposed to get through a night without him.

**********

Harry returned to the small waiting room that had been set aside for the Weasley's. Bill had gone home, with promises of returning later. Fleur was close to full term so she couldn't travel and Bill was anxious to get back in case the baby decided to come. George was curled in the corner, his hair a mess, gnawing at his thumbnail. He looked dazed and confused, as if he was unable to comprehend the fact that this was truly happening. Ginny was asleep with her head on Fred's lap and Hermione had her nose shoved into her Potions text book.

Fred watched Harry as he came back into the room and slumped into one of the old armchairs that had been placed around the walls.

"Did the walk do you any good?" Fred asked, breaking the silence for the first time in what seemed like hours.

"Huh?" Harry looked at him in surprise, "oh, um, yeah…I went to the lobby to contact Draco…to tell him I was staying in London."

Fred almost laughed at this and under his breath his muttered, "Draco Malfoy" with a note of incredulous disbelief. Harry's face hardened a little, but he said nothing. Fred was reluctant to drop the topic however and continued on. "So why didn't you tell us that you were gay?"

Harry blushed and shrugged as all eyes turned to him. It was a legitimate question, they were, after all, his friends and he had kept it from all of them for a good long while, even before Draco came along. "I guess I wasn't sure if I was," he said at last.

"You could have talked to me about it," said Fred, he was smiling strangely, "you didn't have to wonder about it alone."

"I…I know, I just, I guess I…didn't want…to be."

"And Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blushed again. "Draco…Draco was…always…I always…"

Fred smiled again and put him out of his misery, "well, congratulations, he's fucking gorgeous. So, you fucked him yet?"

"Fred!" Ginny sat up and glared at him.

"Ok, sorry, personal question. Besides, I know you sucked his cock at that New Year's party, I think Ron told anyone who would listen."

Harry looked anywhere but at Fred, wondering if he could just get up and walk out without it looking as though he was trying to escape.

"Is it a serious thing? I figure it must be if you felt you had to let him know you were staying out."

"I…" Harry wondered for a moment why he was so embarrassed about this, he frowned at himself and said, "Yes, it's serious."

"You sleep together?"

Harry actually laughed now. Was nothing beyond Fred's range of interest? Then he realised that he was probably just trying to take his mind off his brother. "Yes," Harry laughed, "we sleep together…we practically live together!"

Fred's eyebrows shot up into his hair line, "and Dumbledore has no problem with that?"

"No…" Harry stopped, "well, not that I know of. We didn't really have much of a choice, Ron kicked me out of the room after Christmas…" he bit his lip, he shouldn't have gone down that path. "Ron was sick though, I guess."

"So it would seem," Fred looked at his feet.

"It was Angelina."

They all looked at George, who had stopped gnawing at his thumb for the first time in hours.

"She made that drug, it had to be her." George looked at them, "you heard what the healer said, that only someone who worked here would be able to do it, someone who had access to all the Muggle drugs that went into it."

"We don't know that," said Hermione plainly, "why would she give him a drug that would hurt him? What would be the point?"

"She doesn't need a point! She's fucking mental!" He began to chew at his thumb again and Harry noticed that it was raw now and bloody. "You just wait. When they can get enough of it to analyse you'll see, she made it."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"You don't know her…she has this vindictive streak…" George closed his eyes and fought back tears. He wondered why he hadn't thought about that when he was beating his brother to a pulp the day before.

 _Because he slept with her and because she left me…because he knew we were having trouble and he still slept with her._

Fred reached over and rubbed the back of George's neck. "Hey, it's alright. He's alive and they will find out what was in the drug. They'll find out and then he'll be fine."

"Will he?" George asked wildly, "he hurt himself Fred! He wanted to die and I beat the living shit out of him!"

"The healer said that most of the bruises on him were old; you didn't do all that damage."

"Then who did? Someone has been hitting him and he's covered in track marks! Why didn't we see that? Why didn't any of us see it and do something? You don't just do something like this and bounce back the next day all happy because you survived…go out into the fucking wards Fred, go and have a look at the people out there! Some of them have been here for years because they keep trying it over and over again!"

"Ron won't."

"How can you say that? You don't know!"

"Because we love him…and we won't let him!"

"Maybe that won't be enough Fred." George said quietly, "maybe I should have remembered that yesterday."

They fell into silence again, each staring at the floor, lost in their own thoughts of guilt. After a while Arthur came into the room to let them know what was happening. He looked older than Harry had ever seen him, as though he had aged ten years in a day.

"Dumbledore has agreed to get Severus Snape to go through Ron's room to see if he can find any remnants of this drug. He's going to ask him to analyse it. They have decided that it would be better for an outsider to do it."

"So they still think that someone here made it?" Hermione asked.

Arthur sighed, "Yes, there is more to it. They think it was made by…"

"Angelina," finished George.

Arthur looked surprised, "Well, yes."

"Has Ron woken up?" Ginny asked softly. She didn't want to get onto the topic of Angelina again, until they knew what had happened, Angelina could simply disappear and Ginny couldn't care less.

"They are going to try and wake him up soon, but they are waiting for the Navitas Serum to take effect first."

Harry lifted his head and frowned, " _Navitas Serum?_ " he asked quickly, "what…what is _Navitas Serum?"_

"It's a pain killer," Hermione answered, pleased to be of some use at last, "but it also regulates heartbeat I think." She turned to Arthur, "wouldn't they normally use that on people who have long term problems? It's supposed to prevent pain and keep the heart steady…and the person has to be really healthy for it to work properly…"

"A large, concentrated dose will stop him from panicking when he wakes up. When he was Enervated this morning he…well, Harry was there." He looked back through the doorway and sighed heavily. "I should go back now. I want to be there when they wake him up…and if I'm not in there Molly keeps trying to pick him up and no one can work on him if she won't let him go."

Harry watched him go and turned back to Hermione, "this Serum, why would someone take it every day?"

"Well," Hermione started flipping through her Potions book, "there are certain things that can happen to a Witch or Wizard that can do them permanent injury. Hang on, here it is." She handed the book to Harry and he began to read.

"'Navitas Serum was developed in 1947 after Healers were faced with the complications of Grindelwald's Madragora acid. Navitas Serum eradicates the feeling of burning and pain that the victims suffers as well as calming the heart palpitations and fevers that many victims experience. Without the continued use of the serum, victims of a Madragora attack would succumb to their injuries.

In recent times Navitas Serum has been used in increased doses as a calmative by healers the world over.'"

Harry looked at Hermione who was returning his shocked expression. He stood up and made for the door.

"Harry!"

"I have to speak to Draco."

"Severus, no doubt you have heard about this sad business with Mr Weasley."

"I could hardly escape it Headmaster," he caught Dumbledore's look and corrected himself, "Albus."

"What you might not know is that Poppy and the Healers at St Mungo's have detected a drug in his body, something that they cannot account for and one that may be impeding the boy's healing. Arthur and Molly have requested our assistance. They are hoping that Ron left some of this drug in his room, something that could perhaps be analysed."

 _'So what does that have to do with me?'_ Snape questioned to himself, but did not speak.

"I was hoping that you could go and have a look for it. I would ask Mr Filch, but I would prefer you go," Dumbledore smiled, "as you have a knack for finding things that others miss," he said delicately.

Snape didn't bite, and he thought about it for the moment before he replied, "certainly Albus, and what should I do with this drug if I find it?"

"Ah, well, actually, we are hoping that you might analyse it. The Healers at St Mungo's have a sneaking suspicion that the drug was manufactured there, using their resources. They believe that a third party should undertake to look at it, so that the results cannot be corrupted."

Snape pursed his lips, so now he was analysing drugs for St Mungo's. He decided that he should ask for a raise, but bit the thought back. Besides, working out what was harming the Weasley boy would make Hermione happy, and making Hermione happy had become something of a priority in his life at present.

"I will search his room after dinner Albus."

"Good, "Dumbledore smiled and reached into his desk draw, "Thank you Severus." He offered a large bag of sweets to Snape, "Sherbet Lemon?"

"Err, no, thank you."

Albus shrugged and his eyes twinkled, "I think there are some Fizzing Wizzbees in there somewhere."

Snape looked at the bag with a little more interest. He was always a sucker for a Fizzing Wizzbee.

*********

Draco decided, after an hour of pacing the length of his chambers, that he really needed a walk. It was far too cold to go outside, and it was reasonably late, so he wrapped himself in his warmest robes and descended to the familiar corridors of the dungeons. He could never understand why he found the dungeons so comforting. Perhaps because he had grown up in Slytherin and that the Slytherin Common Room was down here.

For some reason he felt close to his father there. Lucius had walked these same corridors once. It was almost as though Draco could sense him, imprinted somewhere in time.

The dungeons were also quiet. Peeves usually stayed away because the Bloody Baron considered the dungeons his domain, and so Draco was free to wander, lost in his own thoughts. He was free to think.

So, Harry was staying in London with his friends. Staying with the Weasley's. More importantly, staying with Fred Weasley. Fred had a certain reputation amongst the club crowd of Diagon Ally of just loving to jump anything that was cute, male and moved. Harry fitted into all three categories…plus he knew Harry very well, so there was half the seduction done.

But of course, Harry wouldn't be interested and if any advances were made Harry would turn him down in no uncertain terms. Of course he would. It was useless to dwell on any other possibilities. Draco had absolutely no question about Harry's love and devotion to him.

But Harry didn't believe that Draco knew anything about pain and suffering or what he went through with the war, and Fred Weasley, who had been there right along side Harry, could well sympathise with that.

And Harry had been…abrupt…when he had contacted Draco. He hadn't wanted Draco to go to the hospital, and he hadn't wanted to see him.

Draco frowned and changed direction.

Why hadn't Harry wanted to see him? Why did he want to keep him away from the hospital?

And the Weasley twins could be charming…and they were both good looking.

Well, reasonably good looking, but hey, they were no Draco Malfoy. Draco was no fool. He was well aware of what he looked like, well aware of how truly blessed his family line had been. There had been a time when such a thought, that a lover would dare to cheat on him, would never have entered his head. But still, several hours with Alistair Moody had changed a lot of things – and Draco Malfoy was nowhere near as appealing as he used to be.

There were scars and then there were scars. Harry's lightening shaped scar was both fascinating and sexy, Draco's scars mutilated his back and bit deep into the flesh, changing him so that he looked unfinished and raw. He could hardly blame Harry if he wanted to touch something smooth and unblemished. Something beautiful.

 _For fucks sake, they are at the Weasel's bedside. They are probably all in shock, and they are hardly going to take time out for a quick shag!_

Then again, Harry did have a habit of getting horny at the most inappropriate of times.

Draco stopped again and stared unseeing at the wall in front of him. This really was stupid. This was Harry. His Harry. Harry whom he trusted beyond measure. Harry who was not going to jump and shag the first gay man he met. Harry wouldn't hurt him…even if he hurt Harry.

"You're pacing?"

Draco didn't even flinch. It was the dungeons after all, and it made sense for Snape to be prowling around. "I wasn't pacing, I was wandering aimlessly."

"Are you concerned about finding a spy? I told you I would deal with it."

 _And then there was the whole spy thing…and he hadn't even thought about that properly yet._

"You say that you will deal with it, but who are you going to get? You? No offence, but I think your spying days are done."

"I was hardly planning on going myself Draco."

It struck Draco in that moment that perhaps Snape was as nervous about this whole hospital thing as he was. Hadn't Hermione gone out with the Weasel once? Was she staying in London too? Perhaps they should discuss the spy, for both their sakes.

"Alright then," Draco said, knowing when to soften his tone, "what do you have in mind?"

"I haven't had time to think about it just yet, I…"

They were interrupted by the appearance of a first year who had obviously taken a wrong turn in his search for the Slytherin Common Room. The boy stopped in his tracks and stared at his Head of House with an unmistakable look of terror. Draco almost grinned.

"Lost again Bains?" Snape asked impatiently.

"Y-y-yes, P-p-professor…Sir…I-I-I-I…" Bains flushed hopelessly.

"But for the purity of blood Bains, you would have been a Hufflepuff," Snape murmured disdainfully. "Now turn around and retrace your steps."

Bains turned around quickly, keen to remove himself from Snape's glare.

"Oh and Bains?"

Bains jumped and squeaked, "Yes Professor?"

"You had best ensure that you are in your dormitory before curfew. I do hate to take points from my own house, and I would rather put you on the train home."

Bains nodded obediently and scuttled away. Snape turned back to Draco and suggested that perhaps they should not be discussing such delicate matters in the corridor. Draco found himself in Snape's chambers soon after.

Non was busy dusting the bookshelf. Draco stopped, raised and eyebrow and smirked. Snape on the other hand, looked as though he had reached the end of his tether.

"I thought I told you to stay in the cupboard?"

"Non was bored in the cupboard, Sir."

Clearly, Non did not consider Snape his Master and chose to act accordingly. His Master had told him to stay where he was, which was the only reason he hadn't returned to the Manor, but just because he was staying put, did not mean that he liked it.

"Weren't you going to put him to work in the kitchens?" Draco asked, watching the less than happy Elf continue with the dusting.

"I did," Snape replied bitterly, "but it seems that one of the House Elves took one look at him and had some kind of panic attack. Stupid little thing, with a tea cosy on it's head…the one Potter freed, what's his name?"

"Dobby," Draco and Non replied in unison.

"Yes, well, that one."

"Non is a bit of a tyrant at the Manor," Draco conceded proudly. "You're the eldest aren't you Non?"

Non stopped his dusting as if to consider what he already knew to be true. "Non is the oldest Master Draco."

"How old are you anyway?"

"Non is 87 Master Draco."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The bloody Elf was ancient!

"Non was born in the same year as Master Alexius," Non continued, warming to the subject, "Non's ancestors have served the Malfoy family for centuries."

Draco was still shuddering at the mention of his Grandfather. Draco's memories of the old man had been of a bully who had died just before Draco started at Hogwarts. From what he could tell, not many people liked the man. Draco's mother certainly despised him, and Lucius had set up his little family unit in an opposite wing in the house to his parents, and avoided them when he could. He could remember one incident, when Grandfather Alexius had caught Draco eating biscuits on the old mans favourite chair. He'd put him in a full Body Bind for three hours as a punishment, until Lucius got home and found Narcissa screaming the house down, trying to convince her father-in-law to release her son.

Alexius Malfoy had died soon after and no one had shed a tear. Draco had wondered for years after if Lucius had killed him. In his heart he still believed that to be the case. Even Non had said his name with dislike in his tone, and Non was as faithful to the family as they came.

Non even seemed happy at the Manor, certainly not scared as most of the other House Elves were. Draco had no idea why the little Elf was so content, and Non had certainly received his fair share of kicks in the arse and was given no real preferential treatment. It was true that Draco had a strange sort of affection for him, but he supposed that it came from years of carrying the Elf around like a teddy bear.

But Lucius was fond of the ugly little thing as well, and Non…well, Non was devoted to Lucius.

Devoted.

Utterly devoted.

"Non?" Draco asked suddenly, "if you were freed, what would you do?"

"Freed? Master Draco Sir?" Non looked as though Draco had just suggested a beheading. "Master Draco must not free Non. Non has done nothing to cause Master Draco to free him!"

"But if you were free, what would you do?"

Non looked horrified and at a total loss.

"Would you come and work for us, even though you were free?"

Non looked hopeful, "Non would beg Master Draco and Master Lucius to let him come back!"

"Would you do _anything_ to come back?"

"Non would do anything Master Lucius told him to do."

Draco smiled as he crouched in front of the Elf. "Would you do anything for him?"

"For Master Lucius?"

"Yes, for Master Lucius."

A strange colour infused the Elf and Draco realised with some shock that he was blushing. "Non would do _anything_ for Master Lucius. Non loves Master Lucius."

Draco stared, confused for a moment as the Elf looked nervously at his feet. Then the full implication hit him hard and he stood up and backed away. "You love my father? As in, you are _in love with_ my father?"

"N-n-n-not in the w-w-w-way that you think!" Non stammered, "Non loves him, Non would do anything for him, Non would die for him!"

"Does _he_ know this?"

"No!" The strange colour deepened. "Well, perhaps…Master Lucius has never said anything to Non about it."

 _Oh this was just too weird!_

But still…

"Non, I have a very special task for you…and you can help father if you do it well."

Non looked up, hopeful and eager.

"There is just one catch to the whole thing."

Non looked confused. "Catch, Master Draco?"

Draco removed his school tie and crouched back down in front of his most trusted Elf. "It is a big catch, but I think you will find that it is necessary to make this work."

"Master Draco?"

Draco gently wrapped the tie around Non's scrawny neck. "You're free Non."

Non paled, he swayed on his feet, as though he would faint. Draco turned to Snape, who had watched the proceedings in silence.

"I think we have ourselves a spy Uncle Severus."

********  
Semeuse returned to his chambers late, and angry after a meeting with the Minister of Magic who had decided to cancel the touring exhibition and return it to its permanent home at the museum. Fudge expected Lucius to be back on display and nothing that Semeuse could say about the dangers would sway the man.

He slammed the door and stormed into the room, muttering about the idiocy of the man and feeling his stomach knot at the prospect of putting what Semeuse considered sacred to him, back on public display.

Lucius was sitting in his chair on the small balcony, overlooking the dark London sky line. It had been raining down hard on him and Semeuse took one look and panicked, rushing to pull him back inside.

"Who put you out there?" Semeuse demanded, vowing to kill whichever fool Elf had left his Angel out of doors.

"I did."

"How? How did you get out there? Why did you want to be outside in the rain."

"I asked a House Elf. It wasn't raining when I went out and when it started he wasn't here to take me back in again."

Semeuse swore and unwrapped the heavy cloak the Elf had wrapped around Lucius, it was soaked through with water and Lucius was almost frozen, but didn't seem overly concerned.

"Why did you want to go outside?"

"Because I haven't been outside for a long time."

Semeuse was going to kill that damned Elf. What if his Angel got sick? He quickly stripped Lucius naked and dried him off. He lifted the Angel out of the chair and carried him to the bed, placing him gently amongst the pillows.

"If you want to go outside in the future, you will ask me."

"You weren't here to ask," Lucius drawled.

The Curator fanned the multitude of hair out over the pillows and looked into the Angel's pale eyes. "Do not push me Lucius, I have not had a good day."

"That is hardly my fault now is it?"

Semeuse almost slapped him, but he had been praying for Lucius to be able to speak, and now that he could, the Angel seemed intent on infuriating him. "I think it may be time to discover how seriously you are going to take our agreement."

He was met with silence.

"Nothing to say Lucius?"

"Now?" Lucius asked dubiously

"As I said, I've had a very bad day, and I think you can help fix that." Semeuse unbuttoned his robes and discarded them carelessly. He lay beside Lucius and began to stroke his pale body gently. "Can you move your legs?"

"Not really, not in the way you want me to."

"And your arms?"

"I really don't know," Lucius replied, sounding a little bored.

Semeuse did hit him this time, slapped him hard and heard a small yelp in his head. "You proposed this bargain Lucius, and I for one expect you to keep to your end of it." He stopped and smiled nastily, "Or what say you Lucius? A quick Imperius and I'd say young Draco would have his little arse in the air most willingly."

"If you position my limbs I will try to hang on."

"Very good Lucius, you learn so quickly." He parted his Angel's legs and crawled between them, kissing the length of Lucius' torso as he went. Gently he moved Lucius' arms so that the Angle's hands were on his shoulders and he felt a slight pressure as Lucius started to hold on. Semeuse lifted the Angel's legs himself, hooking them over his elbows and pushing them back so that Lucius was lifted quite high off the bed.

He entered Lucius with one sharp thrust and grinned as he felt the fingers dig sharply into his shoulders.

"I want to hear you Lucius, I want to hear you while I am moving in you."

And the Curator's head was suddenly filled with panting, and the erotic sounds of a lover gasping and moaning.

"Good boy, good boy my Angel…." Semeuse thrust harder and the appreciative moans became harder to maintain, giving way to harsh rasping sobs and Archibald smiled, relishing the true effect of his love making. He pushed harder, moving faster within Lucius, riding him, hurting him.

"Am I hurting you Lucius? Does it hurt?"

"Y-yes…"

"Tell me again…say it for me…"

"Yes."

"Again!"

"Yes…"

Lucius' fingernails were digging so hard into the Curator's back that they drew blood. His face remained as impassive as ever, but he was sobbing hard, and obviously aching all over. Then the invisible hands began to push at Semeuse and he almost came for the joy of it. So there were things that Lucius could not control, delightful things over which Lucius had no command.

"I love you," Semeuse was sobbing, panting, pushing harder, deeper, feeling his body peaking, his orgasm only a matter of moments away. "I love you my beautiful one, I love you…I love you…"

He could not hold his orgasm off and he fucked Lucius hard, taking his pleasure on the glorious body beneath him. "Tell me my darling…I love you…tell me…"

Lucius sobbed and gasped and finally, as though wrenched unwillingly from his being, the Curator heard the voice in his head; "I love you too."

********

Draco felt a little foolish, wandering the corridors of St. Mungo's when he knew that he wasn't wanted there. Harry had told him not to come, but if he could see Harry, and talk to him for just a few minutes perhaps, Draco might well be able to go back to the castle and sleep. Dumbledore had allowed him to go, and had even given him a Portkey to get back. He only hoped that Harry was still there.

The nurse at the reception desk had told him where Weasel was, and Draco knew the ward well enough. Pansy Parkinson was one of the wards residents and after a brief holiday with her uncle, she had been sent back. The ward was separate from most of the hospital, kept aside for patients who suffer from various forms of melancholia and were a danger to themselves.

Someone had decided to paint the walls of the ward with incredibly bright colours, as though colourful surroundings would lift the inmate's spirits. Draco decided within a minute of being there that if he had to stay he'd probably be suicidal too.

It didn't take long to find the waiting room. It was one of the few that didn't have a watcher stationed outside. It was very quiet, and Draco feared that they had already left. He looked through the doorway and spotted Hermione half asleep with a book open on her lap. Ginny Weasley was sitting on the floor with who Draco could only consider to be George. Harry was sitting on a lounge with Fred. He had tried to find Draco again, to talk to him about this Serum, but Draco could not be found and no one in the Tower seemed to know where he had gone. Harry had returned to the waiting room depressed and exhausted. This day had taken away his energy and his piece of mind. He wanted it all to end, for Ron to live and for Draco not to be hiding some illness from him. By the time Draco arrived, Harry was almost asleep, his head resting against the wall. Fred Weasley was looking off into nothing with his hand on Harry's thigh, and his thumb absently stroking back and forth.

Draco felt his lip twitch and anger, hot and fast, surged through him. _Calm down, he's just had a shock, his brother nearly died, he's just comforting himself._

Comfort my arse!

Draco cleared his throat, and it seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. Hermione looked up and immediately set aside her book and came forward to hug Draco as though relieved that someone who wasn't involved in the whole ordeal was here to take her back to reality. Draco hugged her back and he felt her sag a little against him. She needed to sleep, but she wasn't going anywhere.

Harry roused himself from his light sleep and blinked a couple of times before his face split into a grin he couldn't quite help. He had tried to contact Draco and hadn't been able to find him, and now he only felt relieved that he was standing there. He pushed himself up from the lounge and all but threw himself into Draco's arms. Draco hugged him tightly, burying his face in Harry's messy hair and inhaling. He lost himself in the feel of Harry's arms and the familiar plains of Harry's body pressed against him.

"How's Ron?" Draco whispered, more from the knowledge that he had to ask than from any desire to know.

"He's ok, and he woke up for a little bit, but they put him back to sleep so that his body can recuperate."

"Are you still staying in London tonight?" Draco murmured, willing Harry to say no, willing Harry to come back to Hogwarts with him.

"Yeah, the whole family is." Harry fought back the urge to kiss him. No one would have cared, but if he had kissed him, Harry knew he wouldn't have stopped, and he didn't want to show them everything, not now, not yet. "Why don't you come? You could stay with me, and you could see my house."

Draco smiled wistfully, "I can't, I promised Dumbledore that I'd be back soon, and he wouldn't have let me come otherwise."

"But Dumbledore knows that Grimmauld Place is safe. I'll speak to him."

Draco looked around the room. All of the Weasley's were all staring at him with some interest. The last time any of them had spoken to him he had been Draco Malfoy, all round arse hole and son of a Death Eater who got everything he deserved. Now he was Draco Malfoy, possibly still an all round arse hole, still the son of a convicted Death Eater who got all he deserved and, amazingly, the lover of Harry Potter – one of their best friends.

"I think you should be with your friends," Draco said, "and I'm not so sure that my staying would be such a good thing." He leaned in and whispered softly in Harry's ear, "can we go somewhere quiet?"

Harry smiled and glanced around, as though the rush of sexual excitement that had just coursed through him would be evident to the whole room. He took Draco's hand and led him silently from the room.

As it was, somewhere quiet was reasonably easy to find, somewhere private however, proved to be a problem. Almost every room on the floor had a watcher stationed outside and it was three floors down that they finally found a secluded corridor and a dark corner.

Draco kissed Harry desperately, pushing him into the darkness and fast becoming hungry with passion. This was no passion born of desire, although he certainly desired Harry well enough. This was passion born of his jealous heart and it was a passion he never thought he would feel. He wanted to stake his claim, to mark Harry with something indelibly his. He could still see Fred Weasley's hand on Harry's thigh, his thumb stroking that place that Draco considered his and his alone. The thought of anyone touching Harry sickened him, and the thought of Harry being with anyone else tormented him.

Draco's hand slid down the front of Harry's old cargo pants, fumbled with the top buttons and delved inside to cup Harry's balls through his briefs.

Harry moaned softly and pulled away a little. "Are you okay?" he panted.

"Yeah," Draco gasped in return, pushing his body hard against Harry's, "I just missed you today, that's all."

Harry suspected that Draco could be a little jealous, but he said nothing. Draco's long fingers infiltrating his underwear felt too good to bother with speculating on just what was driving Draco at that moment.

"I love you," Harry whispered and he felt Draco relax a little, felt his kisses melt until they became languid and wet.

"I love you" Harry murmured again as the kisses trailed along his jaw and down his throat. He felt his pants being pushed down and then Draco's fingers had tangled around the sides of Harry's briefs and were tugging gently, drawing them down until Harry's cock was free and standing to attention.

"I love you," Harry gasped as Draco sank to his knees and slid his lips down the length of Harry's shaft. "Oh…oh that's nice baby, you can keep doing that."

Draco obeyed, drawing a twisted line up the underside of Harry's cock with his tongue, then teasing the blood infused head before sinking back down the length again.

 _Oh sweet fuck…_

Harry could never understand how it was that Draco made him so mind numb to anything but pure sensation. He supposed that anyone could touch him or even give him a blow job, but he doubted that anyone would make him feel quite like Draco did. He snagged his fingers in Draco's hair and yanked him towards his body. Draco let out a muffled yelp as Harry thrust hard into his mouth, pushing his cock deep into Draco's throat, knowing that Draco could take it. Draco's fingers dug into the smooth flesh of Harry's arse and he swallowed Harry deep. Harry cried out, his voice echoing down the corridor.

"Fuck Draco," he hissed, "Oh…oh…fuck…"

Draco looked up at him, and through the gloom Harry could see the wide pale eyes staring at him and Harry lost all control. He came in a rush of heat into Draco's mouth, relishing the intensity of it, the way Draco swallowed his seed. The way he still sucked as the last shreds of Harry's orgasm died away.

Harry pulled out of Draco's mouth and sunk to his knees, pulling Draco close, hugging him tight.

"That was pretty incredible," Harry whispered.

"I know, I think I'm pretty incredible myself," Draco replied with more confidence than he felt. He hesitated, still unable to shake the possessive feeling that was coursing through him, "Sweetheart?"

"Mmm?" Harry traced Draco's lips with the tip of his tongue.

"At your house, do you have your own bedroom?"

Harry pulled back and grinned, "yeah, of course I do…It's my house!"

"So you won't have to share with anyone?" Draco asked, "You wouldn't have to buddy up with someone like, say, Fred Weasley?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you are fucking jealous!"

Draco said nothing, he just looked at Harry for a moment and looked away.

"Why are you jealous?"

"I'm not…" Draco blushed, "promise me that you'll stay away from him."

"He's like my brother Draco!"

"And Hermione is like your sister but you…"

"Sucked her fingers and that is all," Harry sighed and sat back on his heels, "I'm not interested in Fred in that way. I'm not going to do anything with him."

"Then promise me."

"Fuck Draco! I don't need to promise you, nothing is going to happen!"

"Then why won't you promise?"

"Draco!"

Draco got to his feet and started to walk away. Harry stood, wrenched his pants up and went after him, grabbing him by the elbow and spinning him around to face him.

"Draco! What the fuck is the matter?"

 _"Just promise me!"_

"Alright, I promise you. Does that make you feel any better?"

"No, not really." Draco swallowed and hardened his jaw, then blinked and realised that he was going to cry – which was ridiculous, as there really was no need for tears.

"Look, I found my best friend half dead this morning and I have spent the rest of today finding out how he fucked himself up so badly that no one knows if he'll ever get through it. I don't need you having a jealous fit on top of it all. Can't you just hold off and have your tantrum some other time?"

A muscle worked in Draco's cheek, and he blinked again and backed away. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep his voice even, "I'll try and have my tantrums at times that fit better into your schedule."

"Oh fucking hell," Harry pushed past him and made to leave him there, then he turned and stormed back. "Why don't you just come to Grimmauld place with me then? You can sit up and watch me all fucking night then."

Draco backed further into the shadows; "I'm going back to Hogwarts," he said softly.

"What, you don't want to arrange a chastity belt before you go?"

"Bye."

Harry couldn't see Draco's face, he was hidden from him in the dark corner, but he heard his voice catch and sob break the word, and then Harry heard him fumbling with the portkey that would take him away.

"Draco?" Harry moved towards the corner and Draco slid down the wall, curling himself up into a tight ball, his tears causing his body to rock. Harry stared and looked at what he had reduced his lover to. A few short hours ago Harry had been desperately looking for him, wanting to find out about why he needed the medicine he had read about, and then the moment he saw Draco, any thought of it had left his mind. Once again he had been preoccupied, this time defending the Weasley's and himself, not thinking about what effect it would have on Draco to suddenly be left behind.

And he had said things to Draco this morning, this he didn't mean. Harry sat beside him, sliding an arm around his shoulders and holding him. "Don't do this baby, you have nothing to be jealous of. I love you, Draco. I don't love anybody else. I promise you, Draco, that's the truth."

"You…you said that I didn't lose anything," Draco lifted his head to look at Harry through bloodshot eyes, "you said that I didn't know anything about pain and loss…but I do…I…I lost my family, I lost my friends, I lost most of my back…I lost things too."

"I know, I'm sorry…I was being a fucking idiot…I was so worried about Ron and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have, I love you, you should know that." Harry drew him close and decided that he had to say something now. "Does your back still hurt? Is that why you take the Navitas Serum?"

"I wondered how long it would be before you figured that out." Draco sniffled and pulled an almost clean handkerchief out of Harry's pocket to blow his nose on.

"Is it true that you would die if you stopped taking it?"

"They don't know for certain…and…I don't plan on finding out." He buried his face in the crook of Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes. Harry's fingers gently tangled through his hair.

"Why are you afraid of Fred?"

"He's…" Draco seemed to push himself a little closer to Harry and Harry held him tight, "he's perfect."

"Perfect?" Harry couldn't help but laugh, "Fred?"

"He's…whole."

Harry frowned, "What? Whole? You're whole!"

"No, I'm not, I'm…I'm damaged."

"You're perfect, and you're everything I ever wanted…I don't care about those scars, they aren't you…" He felt hot tears against his neck and Harry stroked Draco gently, "don't cry baby, it's alright, everything is alright."

"I'm sorry, I've been stupid…"

"No you haven't, don't worry." Harry struggled to his feet, pulling Draco up with him, "you're coming home with me tonight, we can go back to school in the morning."

"I can't…I promis…"

"You can and you will. I will speak to Dumbledore. You should be with me, he'll understand that." Harry rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He murmured "Lumos" and gave the paper to Draco.

"Mr Harry Potter can be found at 12 Grimmauld Place, London." Draco smiled, well, at least he now knew he would be able to get there.

"I'll go back to Hogwarts," Draco said quietly. "I'm tired and I feel like shit…I don't have anything with me anyway."

Harry stared at him, "We'll get some Navitas Serum from the apocthecary downstairs, and you don't need anything else. We'll go back to school early so that we can get changed there." He slid his arms around Draco and when the blond opened his mouth the protest Harry shut him up quickly by saying, "don't argue with me Draco. I'll let the others know that we're going home. I'd say Hermione wants to get some sleep and the others know how to get there."

They wandered slowly down the corridor, each glad to be together for the night and each suddenly desperate for sleep.

********

Weasley's room stank of blood and sweat and brought to Snape's mind the idea of a charnel house. It was almost overpowering and Snape forced back a gag. He'd smelt such things before. The scent of death and decay. But there was something else here. Some other smell.

Snape lit the room and surveyed the bed in front of him. He allowed himself one small moment of pity before sinking into disgust. He drew a sharp breath, as it had been a long time since he had seen that much blood. The bed had been soaked in the Weasley boy's blood, and it glistened a dark red, clotted, cracked and rank. For as much as Weasley had been a pain in the arse for all these years, Snape was glad he hadn't been there when the boy had been found. He'd seen enough to last him two lifetimes.

On the floor lay a blood soaked teddy bear. Snape picked it up. It was heavy and wet, Weasley must have bled through it. Snape cautiously sniffed the bear and detected Opium and Ashwinder eggs instantly. An opiate and a love potion ingredient. He wondered what else he would find when he found the drug. He pulled a crystal phial from his pocket and opened it, then he pointed his wand at the bear and the blood suddenly began to stream out of the toy, arching in the air and pouring into the bottle. Snape stoppered the phial and returned it to his pocket, then placed the freshly cleaned bear on the bedside table.

Now, the drugs. Where would the boy keep his stash? If it had been Snape it would be somewhere discreet and undetectable. Some hidden place, out of the way of prying eyes. He turned, trying to think of a place or a way the Weasley could have possibly hidden it in this room and his eye fell on the other bed in the room.

 _Or you could just leave it lying on the bed._ He picked up a tiny vial and opened it. The smell was distinctive and unmistakably what he was looking for. He pocketed the drug and moved things around on the bed, looking to ensure that there was no more of the stuff lying around that could fall into the wrong hands. He moved a long piece of parchment out of the way and it rolled open – and something caught his eye. Hermione's name, and a rather full looking rose bush beside it.

He picked up the parchment and rolled it out fully.

Mr Harry Potter.

Miss Hermione Granger.

Mr Ronald Weasley.

Each name had a rose bush beside it (well, Potter had four).

 _"This contract, made between the above mentioned, hereby known as the Crusaders, under the agreement that: From 25th August 1998, the crusaders shall have one full school year (ending 30th June 1999) to lose their respective virginities, under pain of a life time covered in postulating boils"_

Boils? What made them think of boils? Snape sank to the bed and read lower.

"Upon the loss of said virginity and each sexual act performed by said party, a rose will appear on the rose bush corresponding the individual Crusaders name."

There were almost 100 clauses and conditions to the contract and Snape read through them, his face becoming harder as he progressed through the list.

 _"Clause no. 79: If success looks uncertain, the Crusader must do anything required to fulfil the terms of the contract, even if this means something vile, such as performing sexual acts with a Hag, a banshee or even Professor Severus Snape. Anyone who does not fulfil the contract and is found to have not explored every option will not only be afflicted with pustulating boils; the boils will sting, smell and be giant in size."_

Snape lay the contract down on his lap and stared blankly at the wall. "I see," he muttered and his cheek twitched.

She had lied. She had tricked him. She had declared her love for him when all along he was a last resort, in the same category with Hags and Banshees. No doubt the three of them were having a right royal laugh at his expense.

He folded the contract and stuffed it into his robes. It was time for that particular game to end.  
************************************************************


	36. Some Kind Of Madness

_Disclaimer: See Prologue_

 **Chapter 16**

 **Some Kind of Madness**

***

Harry unlocked the door to Grimmauld place and shuffled Draco into the front hall. The air was stale, a product of the house being shut up for months and Harry was aware for the first time that he owned the house and that perhaps dismissing Kreacher had perhaps not been the wisest of moves. Kreacher certainly never kept the house particularly clean, but he did at least give it a _'lived in'_ feel. Without the constant comings and goings of the Order members, the house was cold and uninviting…not that inviting was a word that anyone would ever have used to describe number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry was fairly determined to change that. He hit the lights and the hall was illuminated with a soft glow.

"You have to be really quiet in the hallway," he whispered a moment too late as Draco let the door slam shut behind them and moth eaten drapes flew open to expose the drooling and demented face of the ancient Mrs Black, who was suddenly thrown into terrible view.

Draco took a step back from the portrait (so much like a window that it was frightening) and the woman opened her drooling mouth and began to scream. Her eyes rolled about her head and she brandished her claw like hands at them and screeched louder still.  
 _  
_ _"Filth, scum! By products of dirt and vileness! Half breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my…"_

And she suddenly stopped, blinked and shook her head as though trying to clear her vision. She raised an eyebrow and her visage changed. The drooling ceased, the rolling eyes were suddenly focused and sharp and her mouth stretched into what Harry could only describe as a pleasant smile as she looked Draco up and down.

"If the time had not moved on so far I would say that you were Lucius Malfoy." She did not wait for an answer, although Draco moved to give it, "but as it has, I can only assume that you are Draco. I can see your father in you…but only a little of your mother, such is the shame. The Black blood is very noble, but perhaps it strengthens your veins?"

"Perhaps," Draco replied quietly.

"You are a very pretty boy too young Draco. Come closer so that I can see you."

Draco took a step towards the painting and she looked him over, determined to find something of herself in his features. Harry watched with some revulsion as she found something to satisfy her.

"You have your mother's brow, her cheekbones and clearly her intelligence."

Even Draco thought that was a little rich coming from a demented old painting and he almost scoffed outright. Harry, determined to keep the house quiet, nudged him hard and Draco smiled politely.

"But you do look unfortunately like your father, an excellent man but tainted by that Malfoy blood."

Draco began to look indignant and Harry supposed that it was possible that he could give her a run for her money in the rant stakes if she persisted along this line.

"French you know, the Malfoy line. They let half the family line die out in the Witch Hunts before moving to a more stable country. They needed good British stock to build them back up again, but the blood has always been there, that's why you all look the same. French blood." She almost spat. "But still, Lucius was always very good, up for plenty of Muggle sport, although perhaps not as strong as his own father. Antonin Malfoy was a strong man, someone I thought would beat that Malfoy streak out of the line, but Lucius had his weaknesses as I recall."

Draco had backed away, his features had taken on a haughty look of one who was quite happy with his bloodline and rather peeved that anyone was questioning its validity.

"I never really got along with my grandfather," Draco said tightly, "I believe that he and my father had their differences, however, and as neither are available to comment on their relationship, I suggest that speculation about it should cease."

The woman looked at him again, as though seeing him a fresh light and for a moment Harry thought she would start screaming again, instead she sighed; "they are trying to destroy the bloodlines," she said, "Muggle loving traitors have infiltrated the Ministry, and there are so few of us left now. Be careful young one; be careful to choose a wife of proper blood. It is the only way we will hope to survive."

Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing and Harry hurriedly took the opportunity to pull the curtains shut.

"She's a little…racist," Harry said lamely and Draco sneered.

"Why don't you take her down?" Draco was glaring at the curtains, half hoping they would slide open again, he was up for the fight, "it's your house now, why would want that hanging there?"

"She won't come off the wall, she's stuck there and she won't let go." Harry grinned and stroked the back of Draco's neck. Draco was still bristling about the apparent aspersions that had just been cast on his father's name and wasn't ready to be consoled.

"Then take the fucking wall out!"

"Its load bearing."

"Then charm it to stand up!"

In all honesty, Harry had never even considered that, which was embarrassing enough, and he couldn't think of a convenient excuse as to why he hadn't, which was worse. He blushed. "There's a family tree as well, Sirius hated it, but I can't get that off the wall either."

"You can be really thick sometimes," Draco, said irritably, "Where is it?"

Harry showed him the huge Black Family Tree and Draco traced his own line with some interest. "It needs to be restored," he said blankly, "some of the names have been burned off, and I know that my mother had two sisters. One married a Muggle and had a daughter."

"Which is why she isn't on there," Harry explained.

"It would be easy enough to restore," Draco said standing back and surveying it, "if you hate it so much, can I have it?"

Harry looked at him surprised, "um, sure…why?"

"I've got dad's family tree at the Manor, and it's huge like this one, but I'd love to have mums to go with it."

"Well, if you can get it off the wall..."

"It probably just needs a little coaxing; we can try in the summer."

Harry smiled with pleasure as he always did when Draco mentioned the summer. No more school and they'd be starting the rest of their lives, and Draco was talking as though they would always be together, which warmed Harry no end.

"You tired?" Harry asked quietly. He was suddenly sick of standing in the hall of his house. He had been eager before, to get Draco here, to show him what he owned, but now he wanted nothing more than to take Draco to bed.

"Yeah, a bit. It's been a long day." Draco shrugged, he hadn't expected a night away from school, and had be been back at Hogwarts he'd be studying until late. Harry was looking tired and drawn and Draco looked him up and down, "you ok?"

"Yeah, like you said though, it's been a long day, and I just want to go up to bed."

"Your house," Draco grinned. "You lead the way."

****  
Snape left several phials to steep overnight, certain that he would have whatever potion Weasley had running through his body, analysed by the morning. He had a silent wish that he could sit and stare at the phials all night, but it would accomplish nothing, if they needed to steep there was nothing that he could do to speed the process. So now that he had nothing to do, other than read more of the journal, yet he found himself sitting beside his fire thinking about Hermione and just what he was going to do next.

It had been a long time since Severus had prowled the corridors at night, and without Voldemort to worry about he had found that he was able to sleep with far greater ease. But somehow he knew that sleep was not going to come to him tonight. And so he sat by the fire; something that he would always consider a legacy of Hermione, a need for a fire in his room, like some kind of warming comfort.

At half two he climbed into bed and lay in the dark, trying to convince himself that he had not a care in the world and not to sleep was a foolish thing. But his stomach was churning and despite the temptation to take something to knock himself out, he found that he wanted to feel the stomach churning nausea. He didn't want to numb it. He wanted to feel it and what? Learn his lesson? Feel just how foolish he had been?

The bed felt cold without her. She was such a small thing, so seemingly fragile and yet her presence in his life had become so all consuming. He wanted to take that foolish contract and hide it away, pretend that it didn't exist and cling to her, and never let her go.

But he had to let her go, and he knew he had to let her go.

It was not because she didn't love him. He had come to the conclusion, whilst isolating individual elements of Weasley's potion, that she had not been playing with him. Severus knew that he thought best whilst he was working, because there was no room for emotions in creating a potion. It was a science, a series of precise steps that needed to be performed at exactly the right time. Thus, when he was working, he was at his most logical. And logic told him that his beautiful girl was neither stupid nor a slut. She would not screw someone she found vile in order to win a bet, and even if she had (and logic told him that she hadn't, because she just wouldn't) she certainly wouldn't continue with the charade. When she had been brutally attacked, she had called for him, and she would never have done that had she not loved him. And so it was not lack of love that was going to force them apart.

It was stupid really, it was something that he's thought he'd conquered, but finding the contract they had written over the summer had brought it forcibly back to him. It was her age that would end it. She was simply too young.

He had wished that his strength of character would imbibe him with some kind of fortitude when it came to the wording of the contract, but he had always been a petty man and the contract had done little more than piss him off and make him think about the manifold problems that could well arise. He had resolved not to be angry, or at least not to let her see that he was. The contract had been written in the summer when she was carefree and happy…and no doubt drunk. She was young then, and she should still be young now, not forcing herself to grow up in order to fit into his world. She should be free to make stupid mistakes, and drink and fuck and do things that eighteen year olds do.

His stomach churned uncomfortably and again the thought that he could just hide the parchment and pretend it didn't exist came to him. Cling to her, his beautiful girl, for ever and ever.

But who was to say that it would last for ever? Snape was not foolish enough to think that it would. Did he really want to see himself happy and comfortable and so sickeningly in love that he smiled at his first years, only to have it all taken away from him? It would be far easier on heart and mind to go back to being what he always had been, a miserable, self sufficient bastard – who had always been completely happy that way.

 _Oh yes, always completely happy, just look at how happy you were._

He frowned at the dark ceiling and he willed his mind to shut up.

The point was that he could do well enough without her. He had done so for most of his life, and the past few months, while exceptional, were hardly habit.

He felt an unwilling whimper escape him and he thumped the mattress with his foot. He didn't want to be sensible or logical or miserable or self sufficient. He wanted to be sickeningly in love and smile at his first years and be completely heart broken years down the track.

He rolled onto his stomach and beat his pillow into submission.

Damn her! Damn her for coming along now, twenty years too late when he had no semblance of optimism left in him. Damn her for writing that fucking stupid contract and ruining all his delusions.

He rolled onto his back again and looked at the clock. Three o'clock in the sodding awful morning. It was going to be a very long night.

****

Harry had taken Sirius' room because he had felt close to him in this room and its decoration, or lack thereof, had changed very little since Sirius had died and Harry had moved in. It had never bothered Harry before, but suddenly the sparseness of room seemed overwhelming. He set a fire in the grate in the hopes of making it more welcoming.

It felt strange being here with Draco.

Draco was looking with interest at the photographs of Harry's parents and the few of Sirius and Remus that littered the place. If he noticed the lack of decoration then he didn't mention it.

Harry pulled back the bedclothes. He had changed them before he left for Hogwarts but they smelled musty from not being used. "Do you want me to change the sheets?" he asked, a little embarrassed. If Mrs Weasley had come with them she would have made it her first priority, as it was she was probably not far behind. Everyone was descending on the house soon enough, and she had offered to get Draco's medicine before she left the hospital. Harry had agreed because he'd wanted to get Draco home, and now when they were actually in his bedroom, he was wishing that he'd learned some basic housekeeping spells.

Draco looked at the sheets and sniffed, "are they clean?"

"Yeah, it's just that they've been on there for a long time though."

"It's ok, they'll be fine." Draco grinned, "Is this you as a baby?"

Harry grinned, "Yeah, cute wasn't I?"

"Fat springs to mind."

"All babies are fat," Harry looked at his baby picture. He looked normal, and his mother certainly had no problems lifting him. "Just because you were a girly skinny little runt of a thing."

"Runt?" Draco laughed, "Might I point out that I tower over you Potty."

Harry pushed him affectionately, and then grabbed him harshly and kissed him, feeling something like aggression rising in himself. He bit down into Draco's lip and felt the flesh give a little, the copper taste of blood rushed over his tongue. He thought Draco would yelp, say something, abuse him perhaps, but Draco moaned softly at the pain and surrendered to it, allowing Harry to suck at his bloody mouth, relishing the feeling of Harry dominating him, perhaps for the first time since they had been together.

"Take your clothes off," Harry whispered huskily and when Draco wasn't fast enough to comply he began to tear at Draco's body, pulling his jumper bodily from his skinny frame, his fingers scratching and bruising.

Draco cried out a small cry, but made no moves to stop him. He fumbled with his pants, trying to get them undone before Harry finished with his shirt. He was naked within a minute and Harry pulled back from him, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his lover in wonder. Draco made to go to him.

"No, stay there, I want to look at you."

Draco stood still and watched transfixed as Harry unzipped his own jeans and began to stroke his own cock.

"Turn around."

"I…" Draco flushed awkwardly, "n…no…"

"Turn around Draco."

Draco hesitated and slowly turned.

Harry surveyed the ruined flesh. Purple, raw and painful. Someone had deliberately caused this; Moody had caused this and Draco hid it away from the world. Under the tight, purpled flesh Harry could see the curve of Draco's shoulder blades, the notches of his spine that dipped a little in the small of his back, and two small dimples above what were once no doubt perfect buttocks. Draco had once been perfect and now…

And now he was more perfect than he was before.

Harry pulled his own clothes off with little regard for what happened to them, his own lust was all consuming and at that moment he wanted to devour Draco Malfoy whole. He went to Draco, embracing him from behind and rubbing his hard cock between Draco's buttocks. He kissed the point at the base of Draco's neck where the scars began and nuzzled gently, enjoying the heat of Draco's skin.

"You are so beautiful…and so perfect."

"You don't have to touch them," Draco whispered urgently. He sounded vulnerable and scared, as though he had been waiting for some kind of rejection.

Harry kissed him again, trailing his tongue along the gentle curve of Draco's shoulder blade, "so beautiful."

"Don't…it's ugly…"

"Beautiful."

Harry kissed a trail down Draco's spine, listening to Draco's breaths becoming short and harsh as he fell to his knees and gently parted Draco's buttocks, pressing his mouth against the puckered entrance of Draco's anus. He flicked his tongue tentitively against the flesh, circling Draco's entrance, probing gently with the tip. He heard Draco gasp, astonished at the intimacy of the contact and Draco's body tensed against it for a moment, before seeming to melt in wonder.

Harry felt Draco's legs part as though he needed to give Harry greater access with his mouth. He was opening Draco up with his tongue, preparing him for the sex that was to come, listening to every gasp and harsh intake of breath, feeling Draco writhe, whilst desperately grinding his arse against Harry's mouth like a horny cat.

"Fuck…fuck me…please," Draco was almost sobbing with need, "please, please…fuck me…"

Harry raised himself, pulling Draco up with him so that he could turn Draco's head and plunder Draco's mouth with his tongue, rich with Draco's own flavour.

Draco cried out into Harry's throat, whilst his cock seemed to grow harder; its head tightening painfully, and as Harry watched a perfect pearl of pre-come emerge, he delved down to lick it away, almost bringing Draco to orgasm. Harry then pushed Draco back to the floor, caressing his back, his buttocks, and his tight thighs. Harry pressed a finger deep inside Draco and caused him to cry out again, and then he withdrew his finger and moved his hips in behind, pressing his cock against Draco's entrance.

Harry had never done this before and for a moment his bravado failed him as Draco screamed, a note of pain ringing through the pleasure. But Draco wanted him, Draco trusted him and slowly, Draco opened for him and he felt his cock slide into the heat of Draco's body.

It was as though he was losing his virginity all over again, something so strange and wonderful and new. Draco was hot inside and tight. Harry couldn't fathom how wonderful this was, nor how incredible and intimate the heat of Draco's body could possibly be. He was gentle at first, uncertain about his movements. He didn't want to hurt Draco, but he knew that he was.

Draco was half crying in pain and half moaning in ecstasy, grinding his arse against Harry's hips, and urging Harry on until Harry began to move faster and harder. He watched Draco's body, the way his muscles flexed as he struggled to maintain his position. Harry was amazed that Draco was keeping rhythm with him.

They were both moaning incoherently, and their breathing was harsh. Harry ran his hands down the length of Draco's back, stroking his body, his hips, his legs. Gently he slid his hands around Draco's hips and began stroking Draco's cock in time with each thrust, and Draco began to wail. He came with a sudden ferocious burst that creamed across the rug and over Harry's hand.

Harry came as he felt Draco's orgasm take hold, filling Draco with hot seed and crying into the purpled flesh of Draco's back.

Later, curled in the bed and tangled in each other's limbs, Harry nuzzled Draco's throat causing him to laugh softly.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," Draco couldn't help but laugh at his own lie, "well, maybe, a little."

"I think I made you bleed."

"It's ok, it doesn't hurt." Draco shifted uncomfortably and hid the wince. He'd made Harry bleed in the past, it seemed ridiculous to make a thing of it. In truth he was tired and his body was aching. He was tired of talking, he just wanted to sleep. Harry seemed to sense it and snuggled down into the bed, cuddling Draco close and putting out the lights.

"I love you." Harry whispered.

"Love you too." Draco yawned.

"You sleepy?"

Draco yawned again, "yep."

"You want me to shut up?"

"Yep."

Harry smiled in the dark and pressed a kiss into Draco's soft hair, glad that the day was over at last.

****

Hermione had amazed herself by sleeping long and deep through the night. It was a sleep fuelled by physical and emotional exhaustion though when she awoke she felt none of the benefits of a good nights rest, and she was confused as to exactly why she was there. Her eyes opened and the room was still reasonably dark. The orange light that seemed to indicate night in London was filtering through the crack in the curtains and so Hermione knew it was still dark outside, although it was probably early morning as opposed to night.

The curtains were frilly, and her mother had given them too her over the summer to replace the moth eaten drapes. This was her room at Grimmauld place; she had spent the summer decorating it. She hated the curtains, but they were not musty and worn and she had been grateful to have them. This was definitely her room, but for a moment, when she first opened her heavy eyes, she could not fathom why she was there.

It wasn't summer, the room was cold, and the absence of heat beside her helped her to understand that Severus was not here with her. Hermione was not at school and dreaming that she was here. Then a soft female whimper from somewhere else in the room made her remember. Ginny was in the room. Ginny was here and Ron was nowhere near the house. Ron was in the hospital.

She lay in the dark and stared up at the ceiling. She should say something to Ginny. She should, but she didn't want to. Aside from the New Years party, Hermione hadn't said much to Ginny since the end of the war. Ginny had blamed anyone and everyone for her failed relationship with Harry, and Hermione had been the first in the firing line. A woman close to Harry, any woman close to Harry, had been ripe to be blamed, and Hermione was the closest woman to Harry that anyone knew. She had taken months of alternate cold shoulder and abuse until she had stopped caring, listening or trying.

After Harry had left her, Ginny had earned herself the nickname The Broom, for she was willing to give anyone a ride. Hermione supposed that it was her way of trying to get back at Harry, but the sad fact was that Harry just didn't care. The only one of Ginny's _'conquests'_ that concerned Harry was Draco, and Harry was pretty secure in his relationship there.

"Hermione? Are you awake?"

Hermione had no real choice but to answer; "yeah…how are you?"

Ginny sat up in her makeshift bed and whispered for light. "I'm okay," she smiled a little weepily, "I've just been thinking, that's all." She frowned, "do you think he'll be alright?"

"Ron's going to be fine, you heard the healers, he's really strong. He'll come through this."

"On Sunday I wouldn't even give him the time of day, and I just keep thinking that if I'd spoken to him he…"

"I think we're all pretty guilty of that Ginny, It won't help to dwell on it. We have to look forward, not back."

Ginny seemed to smirk, "that's some beautiful rhetoric you have there."

Hermione blanched and looked away.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"It's alright, I didn't expect anything better." Hermione winced and bit her lip. It wouldn't help to carry on like this, fighting with Ginny wasn't going to help anyone. But Ginny was not so willing to let it go. She had spent almost two years obsessing over Harry and hating anyone close to him, and here was a prime opportunity to have a rant.

"Of course you didn't," Ginny retorted, affecting an airy tone, "but of course, when you put yourself so far above everyone else…"

"I don't put myself above anyone Ginny."

"Of course you do, you're just so far up yourself that you don't realise it."

Hermione swung her legs out of bed, deciding that leaving was probably the best thing she could do, but Ginny decided to change tact.

"So, Harry and Draco are fags eh?"

Hermione rolled her eyes; she wondered how long it would take. "Yeah…I guess," she scowled, "although I doubt they'd like the term _'fags._ '"

"I would never have picked it though," Ginny continued, "well, I mean, I guess it makes sense with Harry, because he never was very good with girls."

"He just wasn't interested in them Ginny," Hermione sighed, "and it had nothing to do with you."

"I should have guessed he was a fag," Ginny mused.

Hermione had heard enough, "so," she said stiffly, "George says you have a crush on Lucius Malfoy? Draco not enough for you?"

Ginny smiled shrewdly and raised an eyebrow. "Well you have to admit, there is something about him."

"He's a dribbling idiot in a box."

"He felt incredible between my legs."

"One trip down the stairs does not a relationship make Ginny."

"And he was as hard as a rock too, fighting really turned him on."

"You're delusional."

Ginny grinned, "Am I? At least I can see something beautiful and want it for what it is. Last I heard you were fucking Snape. What barrel did you scrape to decide on that?"

Hermione turned on Ginny, rounded on the red head, her eyes blazing, "Who told you that? Who the fuck is saying that?"

"Oh calm down, it's not all over the school or anything. Remus Lupin told mum and dad at that party, and I heard him. He said that he caught you in bed with that greasy thing. Mum was really disgusted and dad was…speechless."

Hermione sank down to the side of the bed. So the Weasley's knew, and they never said a word.

"So, _are_ you fucking him?"

"Don't believe everything you hear," Hermione said shakily, "Remus Lupin doesn't know what he's talking about."

"That's funny; it sure sounded like he did. He was walking around the upstairs corridor when he saw you and Snape in one of the bedrooms and when he asked what was going on, _you_ told him what you were doing. Remus then took Snape outside to talk some sense into him, and Snape told him to fuck off."

Hermione smirked, she highly doubted that Severus had said 'fuck off,' but still; at least he'd said something.

"Oh god, you are fucking him," Ginny's mouth curled in disgust, "Oh Hermione, I always thought you had taste in your arse, but wow, that's just feral!"

"What would you know about it?" Hermione hissed, "You're known as Hogwarts resident 'school broom', and you know nothing about an adult relationship."

Ginny began to laugh, "A _relationship_? Oh my god you're having a _relationship_ with him?"

Hermione stood up again and grabbed her robe.

"Come on Hermione," Ginny chortled, "tell me all about this relationship you're having."

"Go to hell."

Ginny was laughing hard now and Hermione collected her toiletries angrily.

"I don't want you in this room," Hermione hissed, "I'm going back to school after breakfast, and I don't care if you have to sleep in the fucking living room, but you don't stay in my room anymore." She turned to leave the room, "I'm sorry for whatever made you into this bitter person Ginny, but I have no interest in having any kind of friendship with you. I've tried to be understanding, I've tried to be there for you, but all you are now is this nasty little mind. You're nothing like the person you once were. You're bitter and twisted, and you've become mean and spiteful!"

"Well, we can blame Harry for that."

"No! We can blame you for it! I'm not going to enter into your Harry obsession. He tried, really he did, but it didn't work. He's gay, so get over it and move on with your life."

Ginny stared maliciously at Hermione. "I hate you," she said quietly. "I hate him too, and I guess there was a part of me that hated Ron for sticking with him."

Hermione was quiet, and not at all sure what to say. At least it had come out now; at least there was no pretending left to do. She didn't speak, just clutched her toiletries bag a little closer and left the room.

****

Harry awoke to the smell of bacon cooking, a smell which had managed to permeate the entire house. Harry found himself smiling, and it seemed almost as though it was summer and he was here to stay.

Except that Draco was still cuddled in close to him, sleeping peacefully, and that was something that his summers had definitely lacked. It seemed a shame to wake him, but they had to get back to the school. He shook Draco gently.

"Come on baby, it's time to wake up."

Draco groaned and muttered before rolling onto his belly and burying his face in the pillows.

"Come on sweetheart, you have to wake up."

"No." Draco's voice was muffled but unmistakeably obstinate.

"We have to get back to school, I promised Dumbledore."

Draco lifted his head and opened his eyes blearily, "What time is it?"

"About six."

"Too early."

"Mrs Weasley is making breakfast."

"Good, you go and eat, then wake me up when you're ready to leave."

"You're having breakfast."

"I'll have some when I get back to school," Draco lied.

"No," Harry said irritably, "you'll eat here where I can see you eat. Mrs Weasley has made breakfast and she got your medicine for you last night, so you have to come down to have that anyway."

Draco scowled and rolled over. Breakfast with the Weasley's, just what he'd never wanted. Also, he was feeling particularly tender, and he was wondering if he'd even be able to sit down at the breakfast table. He sat up a little painfully in the bed and winced. Harry saw, and panicked.

"Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"It's fine, don't worry," Draco laughed and shifted and tried unsuccessfully to suppress another wince.

"Do you want me to go and get your medicine? Do you feel sick?"

"No, nothing like that." Draco smiled although he was a little annoyed. One of the reasons that he'd not said anything to Harry about his back was this very thing. Like Snape, Harry was now convinced Draco would drop dead at the slightest jolt. "You gave me a bit of a pounding last night, so I'm a bit sore this morning…does that answer your question?"

Harry blushed. "Oh."

They showered together, enjoying the private bathroom and the ability to run their soapy hands all over each other's bodies, so much so that the option of going down to breakfast was fast becoming something that neither of them wanted to do.

When they finally reached the kitchen, they found the Weasley's already seated and eating. Mr Weasley had already left, heading for the Ministry before returning to the hospital. Mrs Weasley was worrying over her children more than usual and when she saw Harry she bustled over and began ushering him into the kitchen.

"There you are Harry dear, I was about to come and wake you." She guided him to a chair beside Hermione and turned uncomfortably to Draco. She wasn't sure of what to make of him, Lucius Malfoy's son. Every part of her rebelled against the idea of Harry being with him and yet here he was, standing in the doorway awkwardly, looking skinny and a little lost. But he was a child, the same as Ron was a child and she wasn't about to scorn him because of his father's sins. She pulled out the chair beside Harry and smiled at him. "Now Draco, you sit here, there's a good boy. I put the Navitas Serum into some juice for you, as the Apothecary says that it tastes dreadful."

"Err, thank you…Mrs Weasley."

Harry grinned as a large glass of juice was placed in front of Draco, followed by a plate full of food. Draco's eye's widened and he looked to Harry in panic.

Molly caught the look, "I spoke to the Apothecary," she explained, "and according to what he was saying, you need to put on some weight dear."

"I…" Draco looked down at his plate of sausage and eggs, bacon, tomato, beans and toast. "Um…thank you…may I have some coffee?"

"Oh no dear, coffee is bad, but I've made you some weak tea."

Hermione couldn't suppress the snort of laughter as Draco weakly offered his thanks again. Harry had begun to tuck into his own breakfast and watched as Draco started on his, knowing full well that under Molly's watchful eye, Draco would finish every bite. Harry also noticed that Draco's hand shook a little as he quickly gulped down his juice.

Fred leaned across the table. "This is nothing," he whispered as Mrs Weasley left the kitchen and Draco began transferring food from his plate to Harry's. "You wait until she gets Ron home. He's going to end up the size of a house in no time at all."

Harry snorted with laughter and returned the food to Draco's plate. Draco kept his head down and said nothing. He had no affection for Fred Weasley, after seeing the way he had touched Harry the night before he had no doubt what Weasley's aims were. He was certain that had Fred known of Harry's sexual orientation earlier, he would have swooped in like a vulture over a carcass, regardless of what Harry wanted.

Hermione saw Draco's look and tried valiantly to steer the conversation in another direction. "What happened in Transfiguration yesterday?"

"No idea," Draco grumbled, "I didn't go."

"What? Why?" Hermione scowled, "you can't just not go to classes! What makes you think that you can just not go to classes."

Draco sighed, Hermione had a terrible habit of sounding like his father sometimes. "Look, they are still learning how to turn animals into furniture, and as I know how to turn animals into furniture I see no point in watching the likes of Neville Longbottom try and muddle their way through it."

"You could help him you know?"

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" Draco replied snidely.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "you really are a prick, you know that?"

"I aim to please."

Fred watched the exchange with some interest before saying cheerfully, "so, you lot have been all chummy then? Wonders will never cease."

Draco said nothing and looked down at his plate.

"Oh lighten up Malfoy. The last time I saw you, you hadn't had a bath for a few days and you threw up all over my brother's shoes, and I have to say you look a damn sight better now – and you're being civil! Now what could have affected this change? Could it be possible that the great Draco Malfoy is," he affected a gasp, "in _love_ with Harry Potter?"

"You're really behind the fucking times Weasley, everyone already knows that."

"All heresy and conjecture," Fred said dismissively, "I want to hear it from your own mouth."

Draco glared at Fred, "I love Harry Potter," he deadpanned, "anything else you want to hear from my mouth? How about 'touch him again and I'll hex your fucking balls off.'?"

Harry coughed into his coffee, not sure if he should laugh or be annoyed. Fred was smiling openly.

"Oooh, he's jealous too. You'd better watch yourself Harry, he's not going to let you have any fun."

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Harry grabbed hold of Draco's jumper as he began to stand up. "Stop it," he murmured, "he's just trying to get a rise out of you."

"Come on Harry," Fred was laughing, "there is a whole world of clubs and gorgeous men out there, so you really don't need the son of evil here holding you back."

Harry was glaring now, along with Draco and for a moment Hermione feared that Fred was about to end up in a bed beside Ron in St Mungo's.

"And," Fred continued unabashed, "which one of you screamed like a banshee last night? We had to stop mum from running into your room to make sure you weren't being murdered in your bed."

Draco returned to his food and Harry gaped, profoundly grateful that Mrs Weasley hadn't burst in the night before. He really didn't think she was ready to witness that.

"So what about this weekend Harry?" Fred grinned, "Want to go clubbing?"

"You have to be kidding me," Harry replied, amazed.

"You'd have a great time!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"There is no need for language Harry," Molly bustled back in and Fred burst into laughter. Harry flushed and apologised, and tried to ignore the scowl on Draco's face.

*****

Minerva had seen Severus angry before, and he had frightened her when it was quite obvious that he hadn't slept. Severus usually looked greasy and unkempt, but today he looked positively unhinged.

Minerva looked nervously at her breakfast companion. They were in Minerva's tidy chambers, as light streamed through the windows. Minerva lived in comfortable and spacious rooms at the top of the west tower. It was her choice because of the French windows that encircled the entire room. Dumbledore had gone down to breakfast when Snape had turned up at the door looking like hell and in obvious need of a shoulder to cry on.

Of course he wouldn't cry, but still, he probably needed it.

Minerva poured some more coffee and finished reading the contract in front of her. Severus was picking at a brioche roll, tearing it to pieces and then picking up the pieces and tearing at them. Minerva wished he would just yell or rant…or something.

"They had to be drunk Severus."

"Mmm," he agreed absently and started disintegrating the crumbs.

"I think that is pretty much gone now Severus," Minerva indicated the roll, "how about you start on a fresh one?"

"Huh?"

Minerva pulled the plate away from him and placed a fresh roll on it before pushing it back towards him. "They are young Severus; they no doubt got very drunk and made this ridiculous thing. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means she hated me."

" _Everyone_ hates you Severus," Minerva couldn't help but smile, "if this was written in the summer, before they came back to school, they probably had the same opinion of you that every other student has."

"I saved that little shits life!"

"Harry's life Severus, for Merlin's sake, call him by his name."

"Alright, I saved _Harry's_ life, which means they should have been on their knees thanking me."

Minerva sighed, "You did it most unwillingly, and you made no secret of that fact. How can you possibly expect them to suddenly like you?" Minerva rolled her eyes, "That's entirely beside the point and you know it. Just because they wrote this ridiculous piece of drivel does not mean that they still feel that way. It simply means that they are young and stupid and should probably reconsider how much they drink. People do foolish things when they are drunk Severus."

He seemed to snap out of his stupor, "Yes, yes they do don't they? Foolish things." He shook his head.

"Tell me that you didn't get together while you were drunk," Minerva groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off a headache that was threatening. "Severus, she loves you, just leave it at that, don't start looking for things to make it wrong."

"But you are right, she is young. She's too young."

"She wasn't too young yesterday."

"My eyes were closed yesterday."

"Then close them again, that's my only advice."

Severus pushed crumbs around his plate, "and what if I can't?" He frowned. "When I first saw it I thought it had all been a game…but she couldn't have, why would she be so stupid as to lose her virginity to a man she hated? And after Krum she was too fragile to lie to me. So I accepted that she really loves me."

"Then what is the problem?"

"She is eighteen years old. She has her whole life ahead of her. She should be out screwing people, having fun, being an eighteen year old girl."

"Maybe she doesn't want to be out screwing people, or maybe she's quite content to be screwing you?"

In truth he wanted her to be screwing him too, but she needed to live. He sighed and suddenly banged his head on the table.

"Severus!"

"Oh shitfuckbuggerarseheadandhole!"

"Severus, it's not that bad."

"Why me?"

"Listen to yourself, Severus! It's not that bad. She loves you, and you love her. I really can't see the problem."

"I don't want to wake up one morning in three years time and find a note saying she's gone because she's found some one younger, prettier and happier than I am."

"You've already made your mind up about this, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you come to me?"

"Sympathy?"

Minerva pursed her lips as though he was her student again, "I'm not going to give you any sympathy if you are going to go and ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you, just because you've convinced yourself that it is doomed."

Severus chewed at his thumbnail, "not even a little bit?"

"No!" She glared at him.

"Not even if I beg?"

"No!"

"What if I cry?"

"Severus, stop trying to make light of this, you're obviously miserable. Why don't you ask her about this silly contract, listen to her explanation and leave it at that?"

But the look on his face told her that he was not going to do anything of the sort. He was still determined to ruin every blessing in his life, and all the more determined to look at everything from the negative.

"For such a smart man Severus," Minerva sighed, "you really can be very stupid."

****

Snape returned from his breakfast still hungry and feeling worse than he had before he'd gone looking for Minerva. He really didn't know what he had expected, although perhaps he hoped that he'd get a comforting pat on the back and a reassurance that he was doing the right thing. Minerva, it seemed, was not the person to do that. She wouldn't even humour him by pretending and it disturbed him no end to think that he needed some kind of reassurance from anyone. He was truly going soft in his old age. He let himself into his rooms with the full intention of lying down before classes, and if at all possible, breaking something in anger so as to stop himself from actually crying – something he considered unforgivable considering he had watched most of his friends die and had never shed a tear.

"Hi!"

He jumped and reddened at his own surprise. She wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to be in London comforting the dozen or so Weasley's who had descended on Potter's house. She was supposed to be coming back tonight, after he'd had several fourth years to drive him insane and a melted cauldron or two to mop up, and thus be in the right frame of mind to do some heart breaking.

She certainly wasn't supposed to be sitting on his bed at seven thirty in the morning, well before schedule, and looking all fresh faced and sweet.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said stupidly and felt his brain smack him over the head.

Hermione frowned, then smiled and tilted her head a little to the side, "and where am I supposed to be?"

"London."

She laughed as he mentally hit himself again, "you are so cute when you're confused."

Well at least she was observant. He shuffled uncomfortably on the doorstep; "you should go and get ready for class."

"It's still early, we have ages," she lay down and stretched out, "and you look terrible. Didn't you sleep last night?"

"I always look terrible."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

He really wasn't prepared for this. He should just open his mouth and blurt it out and finish it right then and there, but the words eluded him and he found himself stumbling over things to say. "Perhaps you should leave…you have class soon and no doubt have things to prepare."

Hermione sat up and gave him a quizzical look, hadn't he just said that, just with different wording? She figured that she should make herself clearer. "I have everything already," she indicated to her bag, propped up beside the bed, "I thought I'd just come down here and have a bit of a rest before class. I mean, we have Potions first up and if I'm already in the dungeons then I can lie here until the last minute, right?"

"Oh…well…did anyone see you come down here?"

"No, of course not!" Something was very obviously wrong. Severus was standing in the doorway looking like a stunned rat, but getting it out of him was obviously going to be like pulling teeth, and she really wasn't in the mood to discuss any problems he may have at that moment. She had just spent the morning arguing with Ginny, comforting George and helping Harry hold Draco back from Fred's throat. She desperately wanted either total peace and quiet, or some tender loving care.

She slipped off the bed and went to him, hoping to get him into the room somehow, and perhaps get him to relax. She took his hand and gently kissed each finger, and she felt herself relax as his other hand came up and tangled in her hair.

"We have time," she said quietly, " we could have some coffee?" She sucked his thumb into her mouth, running her tongue over the fleshy pad. "Or we could do something else?"

"Stop it baby," he almost hissed the words, but they were unconvincing. He didn't want her to stop and she knew it.

"I'm not doing anything bad, in fact I think you quite like it."

Her voice had lowered and she smiled up at him. It would never cease to amaze him just how seductive she could be, and that under all that hair and those shapeless school robes lived a seductress of the highest order. It would probably shock even her greatest admirers and as he watched her little hips sway ever so and the robes open, revealing the grey skirt and a glimpse of knee, he gave the smallest of moans. She grinned and pressed her body close to him.

"We can't…" he seemed to choke on his words, "classes…"

All doubts fled as she slid her hands under his shirt and he caught a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes seconds before she stood on the tips of her toes and leaned her weight against him, nuzzling her mouth against his neck. He groaned softly as her teeth scraped against his pale throat. Her palms were cool against the hot flesh of his chest, seeking out and finding his nipples. Then her hands skirted lower, skimming along the tight flesh of his belly. When his shirt hindered any further exploration she snorted with impatience and, to his dazed amazement, she grabbed both sides of the garment and yanked hard, sending buttons flying around them.

He gaped, momentarily speechless. Gods she knew how to turn him on and Hermione definitely knew how to please him. She was eager to discover different variations of love making, and he surprised himself sometimes at just inventive he could be. She could also be incredibly aggressive, deciding what she wanted and not taking no for an answer. It was yet another thing he had never expected from her, but if he considered it rationally, she was such a know-it-all little school girl, certainly no shrinking violet, and her sexual aggression was probably just a natural extension of her personality. He loved it and he loved being the recipient of her arousal.

He shook his head, trying to clear it and hoping to get some kind of control over himself and the situation, but his mind felt confused as it swirled with the drugging lure of desire. "'Mione…baby…"

She gently pushed him backwards until his shoulders were pressed hard against the solid oak door and before he could issue another word, her mouth covered his and she slid her tongue between his teeth. Suddenly, denying her was a distant memory.

He shrugged out of his shirt and pulled her tight against him, running his hand up the back of her thigh and over one soft buttock. His fingers tangled in the elastic of her panties and delved deep to find the damp curls between her thighs.

She broke their kiss and pushed away his hands, her breathing fast and harsh. "No Severus, I'm not finished with you yet."

 _Not finished? What else was she going to do?_

"I love you," she whispered and he believed her. Gently she placed a lingering kiss on his shoulder and then moved lower, to where her tongue could swirl around his nipple. She moaned softly into his chest and whispered to his pale flesh, "you taste so good," before sinking to her knees in front of him.

His breath left him, deflating his lungs and he looked up at the ceiling, wondering if perhaps the gods might save him, but they were nowhere to be found. She pressed her lips to his flat belly, then tossed her head back and watched him as he inspected the ceiling for something unseen.

"What are you thinking?" she whispered and he didn't answer, afraid to speak lest she stop.

Hermione smiled and worked his belt loose and unbuttoned his trousers. She pulled his trousers and briefs down and he felt himself spring free, fully erect and aching for her attentions. She untangled his pants from his feet and swept them away, fumbled with his boots then his socks, lovingly running a finger along the strange indented markings around his ankles where the knit had clung tightly. She kissed her way up one long skinny leg, relishing the soft feel of the dark hair against her lips, licking the hard bone of his knees before ascending up his thigh.

He had to look down at her. He had to watch her because it was torture to feel what she was doing and not watch her doing it.

And then suddenly the realisation that the door was unlocked and that anyone could walk in hindered his pleasure and he reached behind him and began fumbling for the lock. She hadn't even left him his wand to ward it. Not that it really mattered, no one would dare to just walk in to his chambers. No one except Minerva…

He renewed fumbling with the lock.

"What's wrong?" Hermione murmured into his inner thigh.

"The door…"

Hermione grinned, pulled out her wand and sealed the door tight, she then skimmed his tense thighs with her hands, moving over his bony hips and grazing his cock with her thumbs.

Severus groaned, wanting her to stop, but wanting her mouth on him more than he wanted to take his next breath. A moment later his wish was granted. Her fingers circled his swollen shaft and stroked him. Closing his eyes, he tangled his fingers in her hair, melting as the pleasure consumed him, and then the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him, velvet soft and wicked as sin. He gritted his teeth, his body jerking and shuddering in warning.

"Stop," he rasped, pulling her back up the length of him and taking back control. His only thought was to get her to the bed, and he kissed her, backing her across the room until they made it there. He released her and she lowered herself onto the soft quilt and lay back, lifting her hips to remove her panties. She dropped the flimsy piece of fabric to the floor and parted her legs invitingly.

"Love me," she whispered huskily.

Dear Merlin, how could he not? He had never known someone to be so enticingly erotic as she was and his body responded with a demanding, powerful surge of need. Settling himself over her, he locked their hands on either side of her head and felt her legs curl around the back of his thighs, urging him forward. She was hot, panting, and astonishingly, still mostly clothed.

His body shuddered and slowly he pushed into her tight welcoming heat. They shared mutual groan of pleasure and she arched her back with a sharp gasp, raising her knees around his waist to take him deeper and deeper still with every measured stroke.

It would never matter how many times he made love to her, he would never get enough of her, and he could never get deep enough inside her. He wanted to be part of her in every elemental way that mattered. The wave of emotions unravelled within him, breaking on a wave so powerful that his body shuddered. He thrust hard and fast, triggering a breathless cry from Hermione as he reached his peak and soared over the crest, coming deep inside her.

When he could breathe normally again he pushed himself off his beautiful girl and pulled her close to his side, cradling her in his arms, knowing it would be the last time. She buried her face in his neck and let out a contented sigh.

"I love you," she murmured softly.

Severus closed his eyes and swallowed hard, wanting to answer her and knowing that he couldn't.

****

Parashat Pinahas had once been a Death Eater and, as luck would have it, one of Severus Snape's oldest friends. Not that Snape spent a lot of time in Parashat's company in recent years, but he had helped the man avoid Azkaban and the Kiss and he owed Snape a very big favour. Until late Monday evening, Snape had not called in the debt and Parashat had gone about his business unhindered. He had found himself a respectable job in the Department of House Elf Relocation and was making a valiant attempt to forget his sordid past. So when he was closing up his office on Monday night he had jumped when his old friend's head had suddenly appeared in the fireplace for a chat about the repayment of his debt.

The result of the conversation saw the small House Elf Non arrive at the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities mid morning on Tuesday and present himself, complete with his transfer papers, for his new job. He had shuffled nervously on the spot for a while, waiting for someone to come and tell him what to do. He was still waiting for someone to realise that he just didn't belong here. He was then led to the cellar by an elderly Elf who looked as though he was at least twice Non's age and had no doubt served the Museum for the term of his life.

Once in the cellar rooms Non relaxed considerably, as it seemed that the majority of the museums Elves had once been at the Manor and he knew them well. The other Elves crowded around him, asking him dozens of questions about how he had come to be freed and how he'd arrived at the museum. Non stuck to the well practiced script that Snape had developed. He had gone against Master Draco because of his relationship with Harry Potter and Master Draco had freed him. He also had to force himself not to call Master Draco Master, or refer to Master Lucius by the same term.

"He's here you know," squeaked one little Elf that Non seemed to recall was named Tess, or something like that. "Lucius Malfoy is here."

Non almost shivered with excitement and forced a grimace to his face to cover it. "He is?"

"Oh yes, but the Curator is very possessive of him, and not many of us are allowed to touch him. Hob left him out on the balcony one day and he…" the girl stopped and looked a little dismayed, "well, he just disappeared."

If Non had eyebrows he would have raised one. He had thought that the Death Eaters were all on display, so what was Master Lucius doing out on a balcony?

"No one wants to attend him now. Hob was the fourth Elf that had disappeared mysteriously. There were three others, but I think they might have kicked him."

"The Curator?"

"No, Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh? But why should the Curator be possessive of him?" Non asked calmly. "He's received the Kiss, so why would the Curator think him special?"

Tess looked around conspiritously, as she had always liked Non, "I haven't seen, but there has been talk about what the Curator does up in his bedroom. They say he actually sleeps with Malfoy in his bed!"

Non didn't know what to say, so he just gaped at the gossiping Elf and was grateful when the elderly Elf returned with a clipboard and Non's papers. He'd heard nothing about a new Elf coming and it perplexed him not knowing what to do with the newcomer. "I think the Curator must have arranged for you to come to look after his…toy." He looked at Non in a withering way. "You have been a valet for the Malfoy's before?"

"You don't want to do that!" Tess hissed urgently. "You'll disappear like the others!"

Non ignored her, "I was Lucius Malfoy's valet for ten years."

"Good, then you'll be prepared for your new duties. You won't find Lucius Malfoy to be anything like you remember, but it is the Curator you must serve, not Malfoy."

Non tried hard not to smile, Master Draco was going to be well pleased.

****

Draco was still fuming over Fred Weasley when he reached Herbology that afternoon. To make matters worse, Herbology was possibly his least favourite subject and more often than not he found himself deeply regretting dropping Magical Runes in favour of the hated class. Professor Sprout seemingly had a problem with making any class less than a practical experience, and even today when all should be theory, Draco knew that he would probably end up filthy and smelling of something foul.

His hunch proved correct, as he walked into the classroom he saw the revolting potted Dragon's Claw's that they had been growing, sitting on the desks. He sighed and ran his hand lovingly over the embossed cover of his Medicus Botanica and realised that once again they probably wouldn't be opening it. So now he had Fred Weasley on the brain and any minute now he would be up to his elbows in manure. What a perfect end to a shitty day.

And of course, who could forget that they were obviously going to be studying the properties of the Dragon series of plants…again. Which of course meant that Sprout would be taking great pleasure in making everyone pronounce their Latin names over and over, just to (and he was sure of this) make Draco's life uncomfortable.

Calamus Draco, Periculum Draco, Novus Draco, and the list seemed never ending and every time they said it Harry would make doe eyes at him across the room…which would be cute if it wasn't so annoying that he could spit.

His reasoning for taking the class had seemed well founded. He shared; in common with his father, a general mistrust of most medical practitioners and apothecaries. His problem was that he would be forced to take Navitas Serum for the rest of his life, which meant that he either learned to trust, or he learned to make it himself. He had decided on the latter and in order to do that he had to learn how to grow the necessary ingredients. Hence Magical Runes was dropped and Herbology was taken up.

And oh how he hated it. He had long held the opinion that Herbology was the class for your average idiot (second in this field only to Divination which really had escaped his notice entirely). He held the fact that Neville Longbottom was the star student in the class as proof of this opinion.

"Now, the Morbus Draco (eyes from Harry to Draco) secretes a thick pus like sweat from the bulb which has many uses, but is primarily used for conjestion. In it's pure form however it is very corrosive so I hope you all have your Dragon hide gloves as we will be scraping the bulbs today."

Great. Draco hunted through his bag for his gloves, having learned long ago never to take a scheduled theory class too seriously. He wondered just how corrosive this pus was and if contact with Fred Weasley's face would be in any way satisfying. He decided almost immediately that it would give him a great deal of satisfaction to test that particular theory.

"Now pull the Morbus Draco up (more eyes from Harry to Draco), out of the pot by the thick part of the stem"

Ugh, it smelled disgusting, and the pus was yellow. Draco almost gagged. Yeah, smearing that all over Fred Weasley's face would be immensely satisfying. The bastard. If he'd been any more obvious in his intentions he would have been sitting on Harry's lap with his tongue down his throat. Draco scraped hard at the bulb with his strigil taking off more than the pus.

"Careful Mr Malfoy, the Morbus Draco's bulb is very sensitive."

General sniggers and more eyes from Harry. Gods he wished she would stop saying the bloody name. It was almost as bad as studying the damn constellation in Astronomy, and Harry had kept humming _'isn't it romantic?'_ every time he moved the bloody telescope. For more than the first time in his life Draco was hating his name. Who in hell would willing choose to name their kid Draco anyway?

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, that's who.

"It is the most beautiful constellation in the sky," Narcissa had told him, "and when you were born I could see it outside the window, shining down on me."

"And it's strong, and unique," Lucius had added. "It is a name you should be proud of."

Draco could only thank his lucky stars that Orion hadn't shone down on them that night. Orion Malfoy, now there was a name.

Draco shuddered.

"So, how's my little Dragon?"

Draco jumped and glared at Harry who had crept up behind him. "Fuck Harry, don't call me that."

"Why not? You are a little Dragon. In fact, you're my little Dragon."

"Yes, and my father thought so too and used to call me the same thing, so unless you're seeking to take his place, stop calling me that."

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. It was fairly obvious that _'his little Dragon_ ' was obviously in a very bad mood today.

****  
Please go to part 2


	37. Some Kind Of Madness Part 2

_Chapter 16 - Part 2_

*****

Hermione was glad when the day had ended. Classes were over, and after two extra hours of coaching Harry through the day's Potions lesson, she felt as though she could just curl up and go to sleep. Of course she wouldn't, and so after helping Harry she had to find time for her own study. She decided that for the sake of getting away from Harry's constant questions, it would be best if she went down and hid herself in Severus' chambers. She doubted he would mind, as he spent most of his nights marking papers and working on various bits and pieces, so it would be easy enough to settle by the fire and not be disturbed. She collected her books and managed to duck out just as Harry had turned a pleading eye in her direction.

She couldn't help but smile. Hermione had no doubt that Harry was a brilliant Wizard, really he was. But in order to become what he wanted to become he had to pass his two worst subjects, Potions and Transfiguration. He was mildly better at Transfiguration, but in Advanced Potions, Harry was clinging to anything or anyone that he could just to scrape through the course. For her own part, Hermione thoroughly believed that she owed him the help. He had, after all, been the means of ensuring a peaceful life for all Wizard kind when he killed Voldemort, and perhaps, had he not had the responsibility placed on his shoulders from such a young age, he might have had a better understanding of the more scientific of the magical arts. She had watched him struggle through school for years with headaches and traumas that would have sent a lesser Wizard mad, so he deserved something good now when all the trouble had ended.

But no matter how much she thought she owed Harry, she couldn't help but be glad when the day had finally drawn to a close and she could head down to Severus' rooms to enjoy the companionable silence while she studied her own work.

Except that he was waiting for her, though how long he had been standing there staring at the door she did not know. His face was a mask of composure, and he had obviously been steeling himself to say something to her. He had obviously been preparing himself for this moment, and she knew instantly that it could not be anything good.

Hermione's stomach seemed to flip and then a batch of butterflies hatched and fluttered about her innards. "Severus? Is…is there something wrong?"

His intense gaze focused on her face, his black eyes boring into her and she felt herself shrink back, as though she was a junior again and he'd demoralized her in class. She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, the precursor to a good nervous chewing session, and launched into whatever popped into her head. "I've been working with Harry, and I think he actually managed to get his Millefolium infusion right; he might even pass this year…" she waited for the inevitable remark about Harry's intelligence, or lack thereof, but it did not come.

He cleared his throat, hesitated and then; "I think we should break up."

Hermione's stomach now took a plunge from a very high cliff, taking her heart along with it. "Break up?" she echoed faintly, praying that she had somehow heard him incorrectly.

"Well," he said stiffly, deciding to stick to a mentally well rehearsed conversation so as to maintain an outwardly calm appearance, "considering your age and our situation, it would seem prudent to let things rest for a while. I have no doubt that you have certain requirements in your life and I don't believe that those requirements can be fulfilled if you are bound to me."

"What…what requirements?"

"You need to grow up Hermione."

"No."

He seemed taken aback at the simple reply. He had expected a fit of hysterics in which he could take the moral high road about her immaturity and that would be that. Instead she was looking at him as though he were mad and announcing 'no' as her only comment. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean no. No I am not prepared to accept that as a reason to break up."

And all he could think of to say to that was, "why not?"

"Because," she said calmly, "your reasoning is completely flawed. If you said that it was something that you didn't like, something that drove you crazy, like a bad habit, I could probably understand it a little more." She shrugged, unconcerned, "not that I have many bad habits"

He lifted an eyebrow at her arrogant assumption.

"Well, alright, I have a few habits that are less than desirable," she admitted, "but I hardly call leaving my hair in the shower drain a crime, and I know that you hate it when I squeeze my zits in the mirror, but I wipe it off eventually."

Had they been having the discussion under any other circumstances, he probably would have laughed, but laughing wasn't an option right now, in fact, he felt more like crying. "It's not about your hair in the drain, or…zit splash…on the mirror Hermione, it's about you needing to grow up and get on with your life."

Hermione jammed her hands onto her hips, her anger finally surfacing, "I thought that was what I was doing!"

He swallowed the knot in his throat and tasted the awful bitterness of despair. "You are, but you need more time…to act your age, meet other people, sleep with other people. You've spent almost eight years tied to this school, and now you are tying yourself to your Professor. There has to be a time when you leave this place and forget all about it."

"Why? You never did. You were out of school three or four years and then you came back again, so you can hardly talk about distancing yourself from this place."

"I came here because I had to."

"And what about now?"

"And now I'm too old and set in my ways to leave, which is another good reason for this to end here and now."

"You're being ridiculous. I don't want to go out and meet other people, I have plenty of friends, and as for the other, I don't want to sleep with other people like some common slut. I've seen where that got Ginny Weasley and I hardly plan to emulate her!"

His jaw tightened as it always did when he knew that he was losing an argument that he was determined to win. She would not dissuade him from his final decision, and she could argue to her hearts content, but the outcome would be the same. "It has come to my attention that you are perhaps too young to be in a relationship with someone like me…just yet."

"Too young? What has happened? My age didn't matter a month ago," she pointed out, her voice rising in frustration. "It didn't matter a week ago…it didn't even matter a day ago!"

He made an irritable noise in his throat and strode across the room, picking up a roll of parchment from the bedside table and turning to her, "yes, but a day ago I hadn't seen this little work of literature," he shoved the parchment in her direction and she crossed the room to take it from him.

"Oh," she looked at the Contract with a mixture or horror and dismay. "Oh Severus…"

"It makes for rather interesting reading. I particularly enjoyed the part about Hags, Banshees and me being the most undesirable of creatures that you would try your luck with."

"This…this is…we were…so…so incredibly drunk," she looked at him desperately, "we didn't know what we were doing."

"Yes, well, you appear to have a problem with doing foolish things whilst you are drunk."

Hermione blushed, knowing full well that it was true. But then she had first known just how incredible he was when she was drunk, so it can't have all been a waste. "Not everything," she whispered helplessly, but her gaze was still focused on the Contract.

He prowled around the room, his body tense. She watched him trying to understand just what she could say to make this right. He wasn't speaking, as though he had simply decided not to respond any further.

"You've been so great about every stupid thing I've done, and this is such a small thing. Why are you being so stubborn about it?"

Severus didn't answer the question. He just continued to pace the room, a little like something caged and desperate for escape.

"I love you Severus."

He stopped and blinked, then stared at her for the longest time before responding. "I know you do."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because I don't want to wake up a year from now and find you've gone." He sounded bitter, as though it had happened already.

"I'm not going to do that."

"Your feelings will change, I know they will, and the idea that people love each other until the end of time is an illusion. It's a pretty idea that doesn't really exist."

"That's not true," she argued, "my parents are in love and they married straight out of school!"

He shot her a baleful look. "Your parents are in the minority. My parents married young and stayed together out of spite."

Hermione digested that. She didn't have to scratch far beneath the surface to realise that he'd had an awful childhood. He did not mention his family often, but when he did it was never to say anything good.

"There's nothing else to say, I've been through all of this, and I don't need to go through it again."

"What have you been through?" she demanded, "What do you know about love? You left school became a Death Eater and then you came here when the whole thing fell apart! You've spent most of your life hiding in this school because when you left you made the worst decisions possible. You don't know anything about love or life because you won't let yourself experience it…and you presume to dictate to me about how to grow up?"

"You don't know anything about my life!"

"I know plenty about your life!" She was flushed, angry now and ready to fight with him until he saw reason. "You've done everything Dumbledore told you to do and before that you did everything Voldemort told you to do, because you need a master, Severus. You have no idea of how to be your own person! Look at the mess you made of your own life, and you're so afraid to leave these walls because outside them you're nothing but a Death Eater scum…who got away. You were best friends with the likes of Lucius Malfoy…"

"Leave Lucius out of this!"

"Or what? You'll fall over yourself defending him? I can understand Draco living with the rose coloured glasses on; that piece of shit is his father, but you know exactly what Lucius Malfoy is! You knew exactly what he was…"

"He wasn't always a thug, and you know less about Lucius than you do about me…" He stopped suddenly and shook his head, his own anger mounting fast. She was distracting him and he wasn't prepared to defend Lucius to her. "It's beyond the point."

"It's exactly the point!" She began stalking about the room, searching for things that belonged to her. "You presume to know what is going to happen and how I am going to feel years from now," she tore her cloak from the peg by the door, "you're just too fucking scared to try!"

 _"YOU COMPARED ME TO A HAG!"_

She stopped and stared at his pale face, her fist clenched around the contract, realising far too late that she had hurt him and that fighting with him was not going to solve anything. "I…I never meant to hurt you."

"Well it's too late," he snapped, "you did."

"What I felt then is so different to how I feel now. I didn't know you, Severus. You were like some frightening thing left over from our childhood…so it was easier to think of you that way. It made the three of us feel like we were still innocent."

"And what now? I'm part of your corruption?"

"No! Of course not."

Severus slumped into a chair, sick of it, not wanting to argue anymore, not wanting to reason. If she came to him now he would love her, but he couldn't fight anymore. She either came to him or she left, and that was all.

She stared, unable to fathom his thoughts, wanting him to give her something, some ray of hope, but he was silent, still and completely impenetrable. "And so it's over?" she asked bitterly, "just like that?"

And so the decision was made. "Just like that."

Hermione drew a shaky breath and resisted crying and throwing herself at his mercy. She jerked her chin defiantly, "alright then, goodbye Severus."

He watched her walk out of his door and out of his life, listening to the lock click behind her. He sank back into his chair and stared into the fire, an empty, bleak feeling consuming him. He'd spent the majority of his life alone but he'd never felt as desolate as he did at that moment.

****

Non was a sensible House Elf. Throughout his entire employment he had never craved his freedom and when it was thrust upon him he had been beside himself with worry and despair. The fact was that he had liked the Malfoy's, not a popular opinion around the kitchen fires when elves took a break and gossiped, but Non could not help himself. He quite simply liked them. He had no fear of discipline, for if he was a good elf and worked as a good elf should work, then he would be left well enough alone, and despite a period of four years when he was cursed with an itchy case of hirsutism (he'd accidentally ruined Master Lucius' favourite travel cloak and quite rightly deserved the punishment) his theory had worked out quite well. It was in these four years that he had actually developed his affection for the family. The child Draco had taken one look at the hairy Elf and fallen desperately in love with his new 'teddy', and Lucius, thinking is was funny, decided to keep Non that way until Draco tired of him. Over those years Non had cared for his little Master who in turn had grown up with a healthy respect for the Elf, so much so that Non had risen far above his station, which in hindsight was perhaps not so sensible at all.

Because now he was a trusted spy and he did not know if he could live up to the task. Especially since the Curator of this Museum was quite obviously mad.

Non's initial elation at the position he had fallen into was short lived. He had been shown to the Curator's quarters and the elderly Elf who had assigned him promptly fled, as though being in the Curator's presence was too much to bear. Non had fixed a smile on his ugly little face and knocked on the door. At the call to enter he did so to find a tall, thin, well groomed man, combing his moustache in the dresser mirror. His robes were well pressed and his short grey hair was oiled back. He turned to Non with a momentary look of confusion and said in a bewildered voice; "who are you?"

"I am Non, Sir, a House Elf. I is being sent here as a valet."

The Curator's bewilderment vanished instantly and it had been replaced with a sudden superior air, tinged with predatory suspicion. "I do not need a valet, so am I to assume that Mungo sent you here for the angel?"

Angel? Non had no idea about any angel, but he nodded his head anyway, "yes Sir, that is right Sir, Non is to be a valet to the angel…Sir."

"And have you been a valet before?"

"Oh yes sir, for many years Non was a valet Sir."

"Where?"

Non blushed. It would be pointless to lie, as every Elf in the Museum knew where Non had come from, and it wouldn't do to be caught out in this lie. "At Malfoy Manor Sir, the new Lord…freed me Sir, because I did not please him."

The Curator broke into a sudden smile, "why how perfectly delightful, and the new Malfoy Lord, that would be Draco, would it not?"

"Yes Sir."

"And what did you do that displeased him so?"

"I wouldn't let his lover wear the clothes from his father's wardrobe."

As luck would have it, it was the perfect thing to say. The Curator looked as though all of his Christmases had come at once. "Did you like the family? Did you like the old Lord?"

"Non liked Master Lucius very much Sir."

Even better, the Curator was smiling broadly now, "then perhaps you had best come and meet my Angel."

Semeuse then pulled back the heavy doors that lead directly to his bedchamber and it was then that Non first saw his old Master. Pale as ivory, Lucius lay asleep, drowning in a sea of bedclothes and hair. Non couldn't help but gasp, his first instinct being to rush to his Master's side, but he held himself in check. The Curator looked down at him, then to the bed and then towards Non again.

"Extraordinary isn't he? One of a kind, a truly perfect specimen," The Curator smiled with pleasure, "and he is all mine."

Non swallowed hard. Why was Lucius here? Why was he not in the exhibition, and why was he asleep in that soft bed?

"The last Elves that attended him were neglectful, inattentive, and they were," the Curator smiled cruelly, "dismissed…after a fashion." In actual fact they had found themselves as part of the rather extensive taxidermy display in the *** room. "I want to ensure that my Angel is well cared for, and if you have served him in the past it may well work out that you will do a good job now. I do hope that you are able to attend this task adequately, for I would so hate to hurt you."

"Non can assure you Sir, Non is very attentive."

"Good, very good," The Curator had then swept over to the bed and to Non's horror, had woken Lucius by kissing him deeply. Lucius had woken with a start, unable to breathe.

"I must go to work now Lucius, the others will be coming back today and the Sais Room must be reconstructed for them." He looked a little bitter for a moment, "that stupid fool Fudge will be coming to inspect the exhibition on the weekend and he expects to see you back on display, so I'm afraid you won't have the luxury of a lie in much longer."

The Curator waited, as though expecting some kind of answer and after a time he spoke again; "I will bring you something tempting for dinner, do you like olives?"

Again he waited, confusing Non thoroughly; "I know you can't eat them if they are not pitted, so I will get them stuffed with pesto and feta. Would you like anything else?"

More silence and then a smile, "then I shall have to surprise you." He looked back at Non, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "There is a new Elf to attend you, and he assures me that he won't do anything to hurt you, but I am sure you will tell me if he does."

After that he said his goodbyes, kissed the passive Lucius again and then turned and swept rapidly out of the room; almost knocking Non down as he did so. Non stared after him, deciding that the man was positively barking mad.

And he was kissing Master Lucius! Kissing him in a most familiar way, like a lover, and yet Lucius was as impassive and motionless as a corpse. Once alone in the room, Non cautiously approached the bed, not sure of what to expect. Lucius was no longer asleep, but staring up at the ceiling blankly. He looked pale and gaunt, it would appear that despite the Curator's tempting dinner treats, Lucius was barely eating. Non wondered if he could eat, considering his condition. It was possible that this was a lost cause on Master Draco's part. Master Lucius was clearly gone, and it was only his body that remained…although a madman was probably violating his body.

"Hello Non."

Non almost leapt four feet into the air, doubling his height and having his tiny heart thundering in his chest with panic. His huge eyes stared wildly at the body in the bed, so much like a giant doll. His lips hadn't moved but it was certainly his Master's voice that had reached in and caressed his brain.

"M-m-m-m-Master L-Lucius?"

"Why are you here Non? What did you do to Draco to make him free you?"

Non looked down at his little velvet suit rather shamefaced and then looked back at his Master. "It is not what you think Master Lucius, it is a plan! A plan to help you! I am here to look after you for Master Draco."

"Go home Non, there is nothing you can do here."

"Non promised Master Draco that he would stay here, and Non wouldn't dare break his promise."

Lucius fell silent then and Non waited patiently for him to speak again, but his voice was not forthcoming and Non felt a pang of fear rush through him. Perhaps he had imagined it all? He wondered what he should do, and what his duties were? There was a pile of neatly folded clothes on the chair beside the bed, a nightshirt; that he instantly recognised as one of those that Master Draco had requested that Non purchase last year before school started, and a plush robe. He looked back to the bed and saw Lucius' bony shoulder and realised that his Master was indeed quite naked beneath the covers, so it would probably be a good idea to dress him.

He did so, quickly cleaning Lucius as he went, moving his body with the aid of various little charms that only Elves could do, and when Master Lucius was dressed and wrapped warmly in his robe, Non set about brushing out the mass of hair, savouring the silken texture in his fingers.

"You must hate this," Non said at last, not really expecting an answer but feeling the need to speak, "all this hair. Why does it grow so fast? Non would have cut it long ago."

"It's part of the spell."

Non jumped again and then calmed himself. "The spell you used to preserve your soul?"

Non heard the softest of chuckles, "So Severus is involved in this plan as well? Those are his words not yours."

"Master Severus is trying to find out what you did."

" _Master Severus?_ Since when has Severus Snape been your Master?"

Non hesitated, "s-since Master Draco freed me and Master Severus employed me to do this."

Lucius fell silent again, obviously digesting this news. There was something petulant in the silence, as though he was a child who was now refusing to speak. Lucius Malfoy always did hate to lose an Elf. Non continued to brush out the hair, and the way it was going, the task could take all day.

"Non?"

Non looked at his old Master, whose eyes were now closed. He sounded tired, and his voice was tinged with defeat. "Yes Master Lucius?"

"Could you cut my hair?"

****

It was almost a week before Harry could get back to St Mungo's. Work at Hogwarts had become hectic and Harry had discovered (much to his dismay) that Transfiguration had fast outstripped Potions as his worst subject. It was a fact that irked him no end, while Hermione was able to teach him how to pass Potions; Draco, who was a genius at Transfiguration, could do nothing at all to help Harry change a table into anything that so much as resembled anything other than a table. He was beginning to wish that he had taken Muggle Studies instead, for at least that way he would have been assured of passing. Coming to St Mungo's instead of staying at Hogwarts and studying was almost unforgivable, but there was no way that Harry was going to let a week pass without going to see Ron, and he wanted to bring Ron's bear to him, and somehow that seemed more important.

The psychiatric wing of St Mungo's was as quiet as it had been on Monday night. Harry had expected some movement, some kind of sound. He caught the occasional glimpse of someone in a dressing gown, quietly moving from one room to another, or shuffling their way down the hall. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine; he hoped that when Ron woke up, he would be able to go home. The very idea of him living in this place was almost too much to tolerate.

As Harry drew closer to Ron's room the noise that Harry was craving finally became apparent. Two voices, one loud, shrill and familiar, the other low and calm, caused Harry to hasten his step.

"Well if you told me that you prefer nightshirts to pyjamas, I would have brought nightshirts for him!"

It was obvious to Harry that Mrs Weasley was distressed, but somehow the idea of her getting hysterical over pyjamas was a little ridiculous.

"Mrs Weasley," came the other voice, a female one whose measured tones must have been trained to convey calm, "we are quite happy to supply him with nightshirts, so you don't need to go to any extra expense."

"But he should have something from home, something familiar! I can't believe you didn't tell me not to bring pyjamas!"

Harry stepped forward, smiling sympathetically at the nurse, all the while knowing that Mrs Weasley was not going to be happy until she had Ron was at home where she could fuss over him unhindered.

"Hi," Harry demurred as the nurse's eyes trailed over his scar and her calm demeanour failed her for a moment.

"Harry…dear," Molly forced a smile and tried to hide the anxiety that was overwhelming her, "she…she didn't tell me about the nightshirts…" Molly blushed at the absurdity of it.

"I brought Bear with me, Ron asked for it…before."

Molly looked at the threadbare little toy and to Harry's alarm a sob wrenched out of her throat.

"I…I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"No!" Molly dabbed at her eyes and calmed herself, "I just didn't think he still had that old thing." She took the bear from Harry with shaking hands, hardly believing that he still existed. The twins' bears had disintegrated into little more than scraps of fabric and bit's of stuffing, and both were rotting in their old bedroom at the Burrow. Bear had lost his hair, that was true, but he was whole and intact; a combination of her ancient mending and a constant reworking of charms that Ron himself had performed. A beloved toy held together by her son's magic.

"Thankyou," she said quietly and her hands began to tremble. Harry smiled gently and steered her away from the weary nurse, making apologetic noises to the woman who looked relieved to be able to go about her business.

Ron's room had changed considerably in the week since he had been brought into the hospital, and Ron did not need a pair of pyjamas from home to be in familiar surrounds. Molly had seemingly transplanted Ron's bedrooms at the Burrow and Grimmauld place to the plain white hospital room. From his battered Chudley Cannons poster to his crocheted bedspread, the room had become unmistakeably Ron's.

Molly gently tucked Bear into the crook of Ron's arm and Harry forced her into the armchair beside the bed.

"How are you?" Harry asked quietly. He was finally able to take a good look at her and she looked older than he had ever seen her, pale and drawn.

"I'm fine," Molly replied, obviously not fine, but probably unable to discuss it with a boy she had watched grow up. She looked up at the bed and absently reached for Ron's hand. "I just want him to wake up, that's all."

"He hasn't woken up at all?" Harry forced the note of panic down; he didn't want to upset her more than she already was.

"The healers think it is better if he sleeps, and they keep giving him a potion to make him sleep."

"But why would they do that?"

"Something they call 'withdrawal'. They seem to think it would be worse if he were awake through it. It's because of Angelina and that…thing…she put into him." Molly trembled again and muttered under her breath, "if I find her, I'll kill her."

Harry bowed his head, as the Angelina aspect of this was something that he didn't fully understand. He had listened as the Weasley's had made references to whatever had happened, and he knew that there had been an affair and some kind of drug involved, but just why it had happened he didn't understand. Had Angelina instigated it, and had she done it on purpose? George seemed to think that she did, and Harry could only wonder why.

"Is George still at the Burrow?" Harry asked gently, as he had offered all the Weasley's unlimited access to stay at Grimmauld place until Ron was able to leave the hospital, but they had returned to their homes, and George went with his parents to the Burrow.

"George wants to be there when we bring Ron home." She stood up again and began fussing over Ron's bedclothes.

"He'll be okay Mrs Weasley," Harry said earnestly. "He'll come through this."

"But he'll never forgive me," she said so quietly that Harry barely heard her.

"He will."

"No, he won't." She stroked Ron's pale cheek, lovingly, willing him to wake and see that she was there and that she loved him. "I told him that I didn't love him…that he should have died…and then his..."

Harry didn't know that. Harry hadn't heard that much and he couldn't suppress the look of shock that caused his mouth to fall open. He tried to recover himself, tried to get over the fact that the woman he had always considered the perfect mother had told her son to die. Harry snapped his mouth shut. "Ron was in a pretty bad way," he said hoarsely, "he probably would have done it anyway, regardless of what anyone said."

He didn't believe his own words and Molly knew it. Harry was fairly certain that if anyone had spoken to Ron, anyone who he tried to reach out to had listened to him, then Ron wouldn't be here now. So perhaps none of them were particularly innocent, but still…Harry looked at Molly and didn't know what else to say; he didn't want to see her any more.

Molly was the first to look away. She sat back down opposite Harry and rubbed her temples as though she felt a headache coming on. She didn't want to dwell on her manifold sins in front of Harry, and he was certainly shocked by what he had just learned. She forced a light note into her voice, deciding that the best tactic would be to change the topic entirely. As much as she didn't want to dwell on her sins, she also didn't want Harry to leave hating her.

"How is Draco?" She asked, smiling. "I was surprised," she said to Harry's uncomfortable silence, "he was far more polite than I expected."

"He has his moments," Harry conceded, "and he can be a real shit when he puts his mind to it."

"I'm sure he can." She smiled again, "but then, my lot can be real shits when they want to be too. He needs to eat more," she said in a motherly way. "I've got some information for you, about the Navitas Serum and how it works. Remind me to give it to you before you leave."

"Thanks;" Harry nodded absently, his gaze wandering to Ron, "Draco's ok though…I'll try to get him to eat more."

"He's looking healthy though. Arthur thought that he'd be dead within a year, and I'm so glad he's proving everyone wrong."

Harry's attention snapped back to the conversation with alarming speed.

"When they found him, after the interrogations," Molly continued, "he was in a shocking state; even Dumbledore thought he would die. When he turned around and lived, well…it was something of a miracle."

"What…what do you mean, 'when they found him?' Harry interrupted, "I thought the Ministry…Moody…did those things to him…they wouldn't have to find him…he'd be right there!"

Molly flushed, "Oh, oh Harry," she looked flustered, "the things that the interrogators did, they weren't entirely sanctioned by the Ministry…they didn't just torture people and take them to the Hospital, they…" she stopped abruptly and looked past Harry, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "who are you?"

Harry quickly craned his neck around in time to see a slim pale girl in a pink flannel dressing gown looking back from the doorway. "Pansy?"

The girl stumbled backwards and stopped herself from falling by clutching at one of the chairs in the waiting room. Harry made to stand up, to see if she was alright. The girl took one look at him and fled.

****

"I thought you said that Pansy Parkinson was at her uncle's place at Christmas," Harry had returned from St Mungo's to find Draco sitting cross-legged on the bed surrounded by books he was studying and munching on an apple.

"And hello to you too," Draco replied, mouth full, quill in hand.

"Sorry," Harry grinned apologetically and leaned across the bed to kiss Draco, "you taste like apple."

"I promised you I'd eat."

"It tastes good." Harry kissed him again, "I saw a girl at the hospital, and I'm sure it was Pansy Parkinson."

Draco sat back and placed his quill into the ink well that was floating neatly in the air. It was Draco's way of studying Charms, and it definitely was not his best subject. "Do you ever listen to a word I say?" Draco couldn't help but smile as Harry looked indignant, "Pansy was at her Uncle's for the holidays, but he couldn't look after her all the time so she had to go back."

"Why does she need someone to look after her? Is she sick?"

"Well, no," Draco explained patiently, "but she's obsessed with dying, and they don't want her going and topping herself now do they?" Draco sat staring off into space and he looked a little troubled. "Of course, St Mungo's answer is to fill her with a numbing potion that makes her dopey, so who knows how she feels at the moment…" he smiled weakly, "but that's another story."

"She was spying on Ron," Harry said and Draco glared at him. "We caught her, looking through the doorway, and when I said something she ran off."

"Well, first, I highly doubt she was _spying_ on anyone. She probably wanted to see who was in there. I mean, the place was over-run with Weasels last night, so she was probably curious."

"So why did she run away?"

"Have you considered that you scared her?"

Harry automatically took the defensive, "How could I have scared her? I said _'Pansy'_ and she piss bolted. That's hardly threatening."

"Yeah, but the last time she saw members of your _Order_ , they used her like a toilet and killed her mum and dad, so maybe you scared her!"

Harry paled and pushed some books out of the way so that he could sit on the bed. "I'd never do something like that."

"I know you wouldn't," Draco smiled gently and reached forward to caress Harry's cheek, "but Pansy doesn't."

"I guess not."

"When are you going back? I'll come with you next time; I should go and see her."

"Probably a good idea."

"You're very cute when you're indignant, you know that?"

Harry grinned, "You think?"

"Yeah, for a scar headed git."

Harry's grin became a wry smile, "ahh, that wonderful politeness that Mrs Weasley mentioned."

"What was Mrs Weasel saying about me?"

"That you were surprisingly polite."

"Surprisingly? What, just because I'm a Malfoy she was expecting a barbarian?"

"Something like that."

Draco made a disgruntled noise in his throat. "My family were not barbarians! If you'd known them under different circumstances, you might have liked them."

Harry highly doubted it, but he knew better than to argue.

"I know they weren't saints Harry, but they could be nice when they wanted to be."

"Especially if you were a Pureblood follower of Voldemort."

Draco winced, as he could hardly argue with that. His father saw Voldemort for what he was far too late and like most Purebloods, he wasn't overly fond of half bloods – and he hated Muggleborns with a passion.

"Mrs Weasley was also saying something else about you though," Harry said, changing the subject admirably, "about when you were tortured."

Draco blanched and began packing up his books. "Well that's a stupid topic," he said crisply, "didn't you have better things to talk about? Her half dead son for instance?"

"She said that they _found_ you, after the interrogations, what did she mean by that?"

Draco sighed and stopped packing his books away. "Harry, it's over, why dwell on it?"

"Because I want to know."

"There is nothing to know. It happened, I recovered, end of story."

"I want to know what happened to you and you never let me in without a fight. Why can't you just tell me? He can't hurt you now, so what harm can it do?"

Draco closed his eyes and the inkwell suddenly dropped. Harry caught it easily, years of catching snitches finally coming in handy. "I don't want to remember it," Draco said suddenly. He looked at Harry and for a moment Harry thought he would cry, but his eyes cleared and his pale face hardened. "It is something I don't want to think about and I don't want to remember and perhaps if you would let it drop, I might be able to forget about it."

"How can you forget about it when you won't even take a fucking shower at the same time as everybody else? Or do you want to try and forget that ugly mass of fucking scars that makes up your entire back?"

Draco looked stunned and he self consciously tugged his jumper a little tighter to his body. "I can hardly forget that," he said quietly.

"Then you can hardly forget what happened to you!"

"They…they hurt me and the hurt my father and when it was all over and I survived it they got their own back by forcing me to watch him receive the Kiss. It is not something I want to relive on a daily basis for your entertainment."

Harry couldn't believe his ears, "Entertainment? You think I find the fact that people I know and trusted did this to you entertaining? I want to know what happened to you, I want to understand how it happened."

"But why? There is no point! There's nothing you can do, and you can't go back and change it all so just let it go."

"Use a Pensive."

"What?"

"You heard me - use a Pensive. Take the memory out of your head and let me see it, then you won't have to think about it too hard. You'll only see it just long enough to bring it to the surface and get it out."

Draco returned to packing his books away, sliding off the bed to place each one on the shelf neatly.

"Why won't you do this for me?"

Draco turned back sharply. "Why do you have to see? Why do you have to know everything?"

"Because I do, it's in my nature."

Draco glared and then slumped down into the chair by the fire. "I don't do this to you, I never say, 'tell me how you killed Voldemort,' no matter how much I want to know. So why can't you give me the same courtesy, why can't you just let it go?"

Harry considered this and after some time he looked evenly at Draco, deciding not to back down, but to perhaps offer a compromise. "If you show me what happened to you…if you use the Pensive, I'll give you that much. I'll show you what happened with Voldemort."

******

"How long are you going to mope?"

Hermione looked up at Harry who was leaning over her bed with a look that was not so much pity as it was sheer irritation. He was clutching his Potions textbook and a series of notes, not written in his own handwriting; they were probably Draco's. There was an air of desperation about him and she knew that it would be because she hadn't been through his Potions work with him for two days and he was no doubt falling behind.

"I'm not moping," she sniffled and was thoroughly aware that all appearances pointed to the contrary. She was in bed in her food stained pyjamas, with hair that had not been washed or brushed since Tuesday evening and now stood out in all directions. Lavender had been sharing her misery and while she wasn't in the room at that moment, Hermione knew that she had probably just nipped down to the kitchen to replenish the chocolate supply…the constant diet of which had left both girls with bad skin that didn't help their dishevelled appearance.

Harry had visited the girl's room, not because he wanted to but because he knew he had to. Two heartbroken girls did not make for the best of company, and as they were prone to teary attacks he usually found himself sitting with one or both heads on his shoulders attempting to comfort them as best he could. To make matters worse, they had both boycotted the showers and appeared capable of consuming every block and variety of chocolate that Honeydukes had to offer.

Hermione was also refusing to go to Potions classes and Harry felt he should take the notes to her so that she could study on her own time, and possibly tutor him while she was at it. Harry's notes were a complete mess and so he'd brought Draco's notes with him as a comparison. He had no doubt Draco would go through it with him, but Draco had a habit of making him feel like a complete fool when he couldn't understand something that Draco considered to be elemental and easy…and when it came to Potions, Harry got nothing and Draco got everything.

So Hermione had to get up and help him. She also had to get over the miserable git who had dumped her so unceremoniously.

"Where's Lavender?" Harry snapped, not sounding at all sympathetic now, "I thought you had decided to become the Hag Twins."

"She's gone to the kitchens…to see if there is anything left over from dinner. We missed it in the Great Hall."

Which of course she had all week. Harry sighed witheringly, "If it's any consolation, the greasy git hasn't been going down for meals either, so you can probably step into the Great Hall with impunity."

Hermione looked up at Harry, suddenly anxious. "Severus hasn't been eating?"

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes, "I said he hadn't been going to the Great Hall, that doesn't mean he hasn't been eating. He looked his normal ugly self in class today."

"He was in class?"

Harry quelled the sigh in him; it was probably a good idea to get off the topic of Snape and onto something that might rouse her from her present stupor. He contemplated inviting her to go and see Ron with him, but she had been reluctant to go the previous day, either through her own misery or something else. Harry was planning to go on Friday night and Draco would stop in and visit Pansy. Hermione was not going to let the subject of Snape drop easily however, and before Harry could utter another word, she was already speaking.

"How did he seem in class? Did he look sad?"

"He looked the way he always looks, a nasty bastard with a worse temper." He knew he should perhaps stop reiterating just how awful he thought Snape was, but he couldn't help himself. Deep inside he thought it might do her good to hear it. Perhaps someone could make her realise that she could do so much better than the hated Professor and see the bright side of having lost him. But she was beginning to look teary and Harry sat down on the side of the bed and pulled her into a tight hug.

"He's not worth this," Harry whispered into her thick mass of hair, "he never deserved you."

"No," Hermione sobbed, "he deserved someone better!"

Harry sat back and resisted the urge to shake her hard. How could she even consider that Snape deserved someone better than her? What was she thinking?

"If I hadn't written that Contract, if I hadn't been so stupid!"

"We were pretty pissed," Harry reasoned, "and we all wrote it, not just you."

"Exactly, we were pissed; we do stupid things because we get drunk! We're just little fucking kids playing at being grown ups!"

"That's ridiculous." Harry hadn't played grownups since he was very small. He'd been forced into adulthood far too young and even he recognised that. "I won't deny that we were perhaps childish when we wrote it, but you have to look at the circumstances. We were free, we hadn't had a lot of experience with alcohol and we were having fun for the first time in ages." He thought quickly, cutting her off before she could respond, "besides, I've seen people twice our age being just as stupid when they drink. I think Snape's New Year's Eve party was perfect testament to that. Snape got stoned, McGonagall fell over and Kingsley Shacklebolt stripped on the bar! So are you saying that they were just cutting loose and if we did the same thing then we would be acting like children?"

Hermione sniffled and wiped her nose ungraciously with her sleeve, "yes…no…oh, I don't know…"

"Why don't you get dressed and we'll go into the village?"

"You're not allowed to leave the castle, remember?"

Harry grinned, "Dumbledore lifted the wards to let me go to the hospital with Ron and he hasn't put them back yet. Come on, I'm sure we can get Draco to spring for some drinks at the Three Broomsticks, and Lav can come too. It'll be fun."

Hermione looked stern, "you can't betray Dumbledore's trust by wandering out of the castle when you know he doesn't want you to! He only lifted the wards so that you could go to the hospital, not so you can gallivant all over Hogsmeade with your friends!"

Harry couldn't help but smile at that, for it meant that at least the old Hermione was still there. It just took the promise of a bit of rule breaking to bring her out. "Well you can't stay locked in here looking like shit and being miserable forever."

"I don't want to go anywhere," she muttered irritably.

"Hermione, I'm going to put this as bluntly as I can, and I'm only saying it because I care about you. Be happy, you are well shot of that miserable git and you should be out celebrating. He has always been a wanker, he prides himself on making everybody's life a misery and he's probably patting himself on the back because he's made yours worse! Get over it…get over him and move on."

Which was the wrong thing entirely to say as every tear in Hermione's eye dried up and was replaced by sheer unadulterated anger, Harry could only wonder why he had suddenly placed so much trust in the daytime talk shows that Aunt Petunia had been addicted to for years. So much for tough love, it seriously looked as though Hermione was going to punch him in the head.

"I love him Harry! Why would I go out and celebrate losing someone I love?"

Harry steadied himself for the fight, "He dumped you Hermione! He obviously didn't love you, so be happy that it's over and that it didn't go on so long that it could really hurt you!"

Hermione's mouth fell open, "AND THIS DOESN'T HURT? Are you telling me that I'm not hurting right now?"

"That's not what I meant."

"So what did you mean? That it wasn't a _real_ relationship because it was only a few months old?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I…"

"What if it was Draco?"

"What?"

"What if it wasn't Severus and I, what if it was you and Draco?"

"That's…that's different."

"Oh yeah? How? How is it so different?"

"Draco and I… _are_ in love."

Hermione snorted, "Oh please, a few months of fucking and you're in love?"

Harry seemed floored for a moment, "you know how I feel about him," he hissed, "so don't try and twist this."

"Yes, I know exactly how you feel," Hermione replied hotly. "What I can't understand is why you can't see that I feel exactly the same way about Severus, and this hurts the same way as Draco leaving you would hurt!"

Harry was silent, realising at last that he'd made a mistake in his approach and wondering if he would ever learn the intricacies of dealing with a loved one's emotions.

"I don't want to go out," Hermione continued, "I want to stay here and look like shit and miss him, and if you can't deal with that then just go away."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly.

Hermione looked away and heard the rustling of paper as he picked up his book and his notes.

"I'll go if you want me to."

"I don't care what you do."

Harry slipped off the bed and when Hermione finally looked at him, he looked almost as miserable as she felt. She hated herself for it, but she demurred and softened, "we can still go over your homework," she said.

"No, it's ok, Draco will go over it with me."

She reached for his hand, "Harry…wait."

"I'm…I'm sorry he left you. I don't know why he would. If you were mine I would never let you go."

Hermione smiled sadly, "well, it's a bit of a shame you're not into girls eh?"

"Yeah, a bit."

She patted the bed beside her, "let's get this work done eh?"

****  
Please go to part 3


	38. Some Kind Of Madness Part 3

_Chapter 16 - Part 3_

****

"My _trousers_?"

"I tried to stop them Master Lucius."

"My _leather_ trousers?"

"I told Master Draco they were your favourite pair."

If Lucius could shake his head he would have, "Harry Potter was in my wardrobe…and he wore my trousers!"

"And your fishnet shirt."

"Is nothing sacred?"

"Master Draco gave him free rein of the house. It was disgraceful the way they behaved…and they let a girl stay there too, a Mudblood!"

"Did he look any good?"

"Master?"

"Potter, in my _trousers_?"

Non decided that Master Lucius had become delusional; he was more concerned about his trousers than a Mudblood roaming around his house. "Master Draco seemed to think he looked very good, he threw him on the floor and…"

"Oh Merlin! _They screwed in my dressing room?_!"

"I would have to say Master Lucius, they _screwed_ everywhere."

Lucius sighed, "I'd kill for a cigarette right about now."

It had been an interesting few days. Non had thought he would be killed on his very first day, when the Curator had returned and discovered his Angel's hair lying in a Rupunzel like braid over the back of a chair and Lucius with hair so short he could have been Malfoy junior. Semeuse had dangled Non over the balcony and threatened to drop him and it was only by Lucius coaxing him back into the room that Non was finally released from the vice-like grip. Then Non was subjected to a full display of the true nature of the Curator's madness as Non watched him violate his beloved Angel in such a way that Non felt sure that Lucius would never survive. Afterwards the Curator had lovingly held him, speaking gentle words of devotion and Lucius had remained silent, recovering from what Non was soon to learn was a more than regular occurrence.

Non's first instinct was to report straight back to Draco and Snape, but he felt a duty to stay where he was and tend his old Master, who found little peace from the Curator's attentions. In every spare moment the man was there and Lucius never complained.

"But why do you encourage him?" Non had asked bravely.

"You don't understand, I have no choice," had been the answer.

Friday night found them sitting on the balcony surrounded by a warming charm and basking in the relative luxury of being alone. Semeuse had been asked to attend a dinner party held by the Minister of Magic. From what they could both gather, Fudge was campaigning for re-election and it looked as though Arthur Weasley was going to beat him. Lucius had expressed the shocking sentiment that he hoped Weasley would win, and then the talk had turned to what had been happening since Draco had returned to school. Obviously the subject of Harry Potter was one that Lucius wanted to know more about, and Non was certain that Lucius would never get over the violation to his favourite leather trousers.

"I will have to leave tonight Master Lucius," non said quietly, "after the Curator returns of course, and I will be back by morning."

"Where are you going?"

"I have to go and report to Master Severus. He wants me to report every Friday."

"What are you going to tell him?" Lucius sounded a little panicked.

Non looked at Lucius confused, "well, everything, that they were right about your soul, that you can talk…and about the things the Curator does to you."

"You can't tell him that."

"But I must Master Lucius, he asked me to look into that specifically."

"He did? Why?"

"I…I don't know Master."

"You have to tell him not to tell Draco…and he must keep Draco away from here…tell him to make sure Draco stays with Potter," Lucius was beginning to sound a little wild, and he actually seemed to twitch. "Potter can protect him!"

"But," Non frowned, "protect him from who?"

"From the Curator of course!" Lucius sounded exasperated, something that did not sit well with the eerily still exterior, "he wants Draco. Tell Severus not to let Draco anywhere near here. Draco must stay with Potter. Don't let him do anything stupid, do you understand that?"

"Yes Master Lucius."

"And you'll tell him?"

"Yes Master Lucius."

****  
Friday came around quickly and once classes were finished Harry and Draco made their way to London and St Mungo's. Harry's first idea was to stay in London for the weekend. He and Draco could then stay comfortably at Grimmauld Place. But Draco had vetoed the idea, as he had business with Snape on Saturday and although Harry was burning to know exactly what that business was, he didn't ask. He had no doubt that it had something to do with family matters. Snape and Draco had a lot of discussion about _'family matters_ '. Draco seemed to spend at least two or three nights a week down in the dungeons.

Once at St Mungo's Harry found himself being reintroduced to Pansy Parkinson who was nothing like the girl in his memories. While Pansy Parkinson had once been a pug faced, disagreeable girl who had followed Draco around like a dog making everyone's lives generally unpleasant; the girl that Harry had just met was pale and shy and Harry would hazard an accurate guess that she was frightened of her own shadow.

Harry left Draco and Pansy discussing the Montrose Magpies chances of beating the Chudley Cannons on Saturday, and made his way to Ron's room with the same uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he'd first encountered when he realised that war crimes were not contained within the realms of the Death Eaters.

He rounded the door of Ron's room without even thinking. It was quiet, and it was evident that he was not surrounded by family, which was probably a good thing. His conversations with the Weasley's of late had not been so good. Fred was obviously trying to devise a way of getting into his pants, Ginny wasn't far off that, George was too depressed to speak to anyone and Molly…well Molly was being just plain strange.

Ron was sitting up in the bed, he didn't look entirely healthy, but he was very much awake and Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He had been so incredibly hopeful that Ron would wake up that he hadn't really considered what would happen if he did.

"Hi," Harry gasped.

"Hi Harry," Ron smiled faintly; "mum said you might come."

Harry moved into the room and approached the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Sick…" Ron smiled again, "I probably deserve it though, eh?"

"No…of course you don't."

Ron closed his eyes, "yeah I do. "He looked for a moment as though he would fade back into sleep, but then he opened his eyes again. "I'm really sorry…about everything I did to you. I was a real fuckwit."

"You weren't well."

"Once again, my own fault."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and hesitantly stroked Ron's hand. Ron's eyes flickered open and he sighed, "That's nice."

"You scared me," Harry whispered harshly, "when I found you…you scared me. I thought you were dead."

"I wanted to be."

"I'm glad you weren't."

Ron moved his hand a little, twinning his fingers around Harry's, "how did I stuff up so badly?"

"I think we all stuffed up a bit. You had something in your body that shouldn't have been there, something that Angelina put into you."

"She…she was confused. She wasn't…she hates me, she hates all of us…not you, just us."

Harry closed his eyes, "did she tell you why?"

"No. She just wanted what she wanted and that was all." He sighed again and after a long silence he murmured softly, "I knew what I was doing, in the beginning at least."

Harry focused on Ron's pale hand.

"What's he like?"

Harry jerked his head up quickly, "huh? Who?"

"Malfoy, what's he like? What made you go to him?"

Harry felt a blush burning over his cheeks. "He's beautiful, he's just so beautiful."

"Is that all? He's beautiful?"

"Not just on the outside."

Ron looked dubious.

"I knew you wouldn't believe it. You've missed a bit."

"Mostly because you didn't tell me." There was no anger in his voice, no reproach, he just stated it quietly and squeezed Harry's hand a little tighter.

"I didn't think you'd understand. When you thought he was with Hermione you were so angry, and I didn't think you'd take it any better if it was me and not her."

"Probably not," He focused on Harry, "so, are you in love with him?"

"Yes."

"Does he love you?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

Harry couldn't answer. Not because he was second guessing himself but because it was hard to explain how he knew because of a feeling. The feeling went beyond the trappings of touch and taste and the sheer intoxication of lovemaking. It was a pure knowledge; he simply knew Draco loved him. "I…I just know."

"I don't think you can know," Ron whispered, "I don't think it exists."

"It has to," Harry replied, "people do too many stupid things in the name of it."

"Maybe people are just stupid."

"Maybe," Harry conceded and smiled, " _I_ love you," he wheedled.

Ron coughed out a little chuckle, "then perhaps there's hope for us yet."

****

Draco knocked on the door and entered Snape's chambers without waiting for a reply. He spent so much time in these rooms that he felt almost like a permanent fixture. Almost.

Snape was perched uneasily on the edge of a winged back chair, the fire was blazing and the room was as warm and as welcoming as it ever would be. But something was wrong, and that something was standing, immobile, in the centre of the room. There was a woman, beautiful in every way, standing in perfect profile, her mouth slightly open as though in mid speech. Draco looked from the woman to Snape and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Snape returned the look, and shifted uneasily on the edge of the chair.

"She's very pretty," Draco said jovially, "but do you always bind your…lady friends."

"She's not my friend," Snape replied irritably, slipping into his familiar role and instantly looking more comfortable.

"Alright then, so who is she?"

"Regina Vermoral," Snape replied, the uncomfortable sound returning to his voice.

Draco quickly looked to the woman again. His father's mistress. She was indeed beautiful, and Draco was reminded at once of the fairytale Snow White; lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony. She was standing in perfect profile, her neck was long and swan like and her elegant chin seemed almost to be carved from pure white marble. For a moment Draco felt the need to run a finger down the aquiline plain of her nose. Her eyes were green, wide and rimmed with dark lashes, whilst her sleek black hair was pulled into a loose chignon.

Draco's fancy would tell him that if Harry was a woman, he would look like this, but it was only his fancy. His logic knew that Harry was not as beautiful as this. Harry had manifold flaws, was angular and rougher and this woman appeared flawless. But her features had familiar landmarks for him, the dark hair, the straight nose, those perfect green eyes. So perhaps that was why he was so drawn to her.

Draco approached her while Snape kept his distance.

"Why have you bound her?" Draco said in wonder.

"She isn't…"

Draco didn't hear the rest, he walked around her, his breath caught and everything seemed to stop. It was a tragedy, some horrific twist of nature so cruel that Draco could not speak. As perfect as she appeared in her profile, and as perfect as the left side of her face appeared, the right proved itself some kind of horrific parody of the other. The woman's face seemed caught in some kind of slow melt, as though half her face was sliding away. Her right eye was almost non-existent, although Draco thought that he could see some glittering green inside the molten slit. She had been speaking when Snape had bound her, but the right side of her mouth was frozen shut and only the left had opened, Draco could imagine that if she smiled it would be, by necessity, lopsided. The flesh slid from her jaw and down her throat. Draco wondered if she had been burned, as it seemed the only logical explanation.

"Can we talk to her? We need to speak to her, don't we?"

Snape sighed, as though having to face the inevitable, "Yes, we have to speak to her."

"So you'll have to unbind her."

Snape seemed reluctant and Draco became impatient.

"We need to speak to her! What is your fucking problem?"

"Try to remember Draco, I am your Professor here, and I'll thank you not to speak to me as though I'm your House Elf."

Draco tried to calm himself, "Alright," he took a deep breath, "could you please release her so that we can ask her about my father?"

Snape seemed resigned to the fact that he had to release her, but he still drew his wand out reluctantly. He looked to Draco and then removed the bind from the woman.

She fell forward, stumbled and saved herself from falling. She giggled, embarrassed. And then she looked at Draco and her left eye lit up. "Lucius?"

"No Regina," Snape said firmly, "this is Draco."

"Ahh, the little one," she said and she laughed with a voice of dirt and gravel and with that she swept across to Draco.

She had almost certainly been clothed by Lucius Malfoy. Muggles simply did not wear such gowns and the fabrics of velvet and silk were of the finest quality. Draco could see the mark of quality just by looking at them. The cut of the gown was his father's taste, something perhaps Draco's mother would have worn, and it was possibly one of her cast off's.

The woman came close to inspect him, as though she wished to use all her senses and Draco guessed, correctly, that she could not see clearly. She ran her hands over his shoulders and back, and then down his arms, his stomach, his chest, his throat and hair and face.

"You're taller," she muttered, "too tall, mother's blood, Black blood," she sniffed at him, "but you have his skin." She stepped back and stared at Draco.

"The son!" she suddenly cried, and her voice had changed, child-like and sweet, "prodigal son. Little one. Important one. Light of life. Light of all things. Draconis lux Lucius."

Draco looked at Snape who took a deep breath and turned away.

"Where is he?" she asked and now sounded quite normal and lucid, "where is Lucius? Is he coming back?"

"He was…" Draco hesitated, unsure that she could possibly understand, "he was kissed…by a Dementor."

Regina Vermoral squealed with delight and clapped her hands. She spun on her heel and smiled her grotesque lopsided smile at them both. "Did it work? Is he coming back?"

"What do you know; do you know what he did?"

"Lucius, my Lucius, little bringer of light and dark and things that squirm and worm and make me…" She giggled and hid her face behind her hand. "I can't think of a rhyme."

Draco gaped, unsure of what to say as the woman grinned expectantly. It was Snape, who had been standing back, with a look of loathing on his face, who stepped forward and spoke.

"Regina stop, you must try and think. What did Lucius do, to help him come back?"

"One plus one equals two, two plus two equals four, four plus four equals eight, eight plus eight equals sixteen, sixteen plus sixteen equals thirty two, thirty two plus thirty two equals sixty four, sixty four plus sixty four equals…"

"Regina! Stop!"

She jumped and looked at Snape and her half lip trembled dramatically.

"We don't know how to get him back, and from what we can tell, you do."

Regina's eye widened and she gasped; "Oh yes! Yes! Yessssssss! I know. I know all! I see all! Feathers and blood and oil. A mortal steals immortal soul and HIDES it away inside!" She turned, smiling manically and then she demurred and bowed her head, "poor, poor Metatron," she sobbed silently, "so quiet, shhhhhh! He's sleeping still, not dead but dreaming."

"Can you tell us what Lucius did?" Snape asked.

"Oh yes! Yes! YESSSSSS!" she turned and grinned evilly, not a sign of a tear in her eye. She danced around Draco, leaning in close, "Such a pretty boy, oh such a beautiful boy. Little one." She flicked her pink tongue out and licked his cheek.

Draco flinched and began to wish that Snape would immobilise her again.

"I want the little one. I want the precious one. I want the light of all things."

Draco swallowed and spoke for the first time since the woman's madness had truly manifested; "what do you mean, 'want'?"

She laughed, throaty and raw, "lay down next to me, and take what's left, "she cried, "all I need is someone inside."

Draco stepped back, shaking his head in horror. "N-no! I…I can't."

She pouted and stamped her foot. "Father first, and then the son. Father is an angel now…and you are fleshhhhhh!" She swept around Draco again and embraced him from behind. "Mine," she hissed, "or the bringer of light goes out."

"I…I can't," Draco repeated again, he looked helplessly at Snape, "H-Harry would kill me."

"He can't do what you're asking," Snape said with quiet malevolence, "Draco is not like his father."

"Father and son, alike, like two…like two…like two…like two…"

"Stop it Regina," Snape hissed.

"Poor poor Lucius, how he cries, how he cries, how he cries, how he cries…how he weeps."

Snape raised his wand, his lip curled in disgust

"Don't," Draco whispered, reaching out a hand, signalling his godfather to stop, "not yet."

Regina smiled mischievously and rested her chin on Draco's shoulder, standing on the very tips of her toes to do so." He loves you, my Lucius does. He says you are his soul, he says you are his life; he says he would give everything to you…and you leave him all alone. He's an angel now and he can't fly, his wings are broken…so sad…so sad…you don't love him do you?"

"I…I do…I do love him…I…"

"I want what is mine!"

"I can't," Draco whispered, his voice growing faint, "I can't, Harry…"

"Who is Harry?" She suddenly sounded accusing, she turned to Snape, her eye narrowed, "who has been touching what is mine?"

"He is not yours."

"Harry need never ever…ever know!"

"No!" Draco cried, panicked, "what…" he looked wildly around him, "what about him?" He pointed at Snape.

Snape's mouth fell open; "you're both insane!"

"No!" Regina looked delighted, "I could have both!" she squealed, "Two is better than one. One plus one is two! One is better than none, but one plus one is two and two is better than one!"

Snape glared at Draco, "well thank you Draco, now we are in a worse position."

"Lock the door," she twittered, "lock the door and dim the lights, dim the lights, dim the lights!"

Draco was shaking his head at Snape who had wrapped his own robes a little tighter around himself.

"Come now little one, come along, quickly now, no time to waste!" Regina spun with delight, spun and spun like a demonic ballerina and when she stopped she swayed and giggled and then struggled to reach behind her back. She unclasped the gown and the whole thing fell to the ground, she was naked beneath it.

Draco and Snape shared a look and the naked woman began to run around the room, dancing wildly over the tabletop and the bed, whirling and squealing around them dementedly.

"Y-y-you!" Draco stammered at Snape, "you do it…I can't do it…"

"Me?" Snape glared at him, "I seem to recall it was you she wanted originally."

"But…but you left Hermione, you're not attached…I can't do this…Harry!"

"So, I'm apart from Hermione for less than a week and suddenly I'm going to desire this mad woman ex-mistress of your father's?"

They both winced, the same thought running through both their heads, _'what had Lucius been thinking?'_

But then, Snape reasoned silently, she had been a girl of sixteen when Lucius had found her, and this was part of some natural progression of her own. Lucius had kept her well provided. Snape had seen her cottage, but the girl saw celestial beings after all, and after so many years it must have some effect on her mental state...and Lucius had ways of driving anyone crazy.

But she was clearly insane, and Snape doubted that even Lucius could bring on this kind of madness. So she must have been mad from the beginning.

"Please," Draco was saying, perhaps not really wanting to think about just what his father was doing with this woman.

"No," Snape had high doubts that he would even be able to get aroused. The woman's body was incredible; he had to give her that, but she was…well she was…mad.

Regina stopped mid dance and glared at them both resentfully. "You haven't locked the door," she panted and as they stared back in horror. Her lip trembled and her face screwed up as she prepared to wail.

Snape and Draco braced themselves.

"LUCIUS! Mer Sidi! Mer Kurra! Mer Urulu! Mer Martu! Zi Dingir Anna Kanpa, Zi Dingir Kia Kanpa!" And then she stopped and turned hatefully to Draco. "He gave you everything. You and that whore! I looked through the windows of your life and I watched you, you spoiled ungrateful little brat. He gave you all and her as well, because she gave him you and he loved you with everything he had. I got nothing but the scraps that were left over…" but then her face lightened and her mood changed again. "Oh but Lucius you were wrong. He never loved you enough, not enough to save you and you were wrong and I was right!"

"SHUT UP!" Draco screamed and rounded on her, "just shut up you…you fucking HAG!"

"Regina's face twisted into horrible mock concern, "oh, oh the little one. How he cries. The beautiful one, the darling one, pride of his Daddy's eye."

"If you love him," Draco hissed, his nerves and patience at an end, "then just tell us how to free him."

To Draco's shock she laughed in a high and shrill voice that echoed about the room. "Love him? Love your father? Oh no little Dragon, I never loved him. How could I love one who hated me? Who gave me this face and this life?"

"My…my father did this to you?" Draco's mouth ran dry and Regina smiled sweetly.

"When all is one and one is all, down the rain begins to fall, a curse upon a pretty head and Regina is far better off dead." She sat herself cross legged on the floor and gazed up at them, childlike and innocent and then suddenly she reached up and plucked a feather out of the air. Snape stepped forward, drawing closer to the feather, knowing exactly what it was and wanting only to examine it closer. Regina smiled at him with her strange lopsided mouth. "The feather of an angel is a powerful thing," she said quietly and turned to Draco. "Do you love him?" She asked, "Your father I mean. Do you love him?"

Draco was breathing heavily. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say to convince her. "Yes," he rasped, "I love my father."

"But not enough to save him?"

"I love him more than anything else."

Regina smiled again and slowly she lay back on the floor, arching her body and displaying herself fully. "Then lock the door little Dragon, I want what is MINE!"

Draco cast a glance at Snape who shook his head and mouthed _'no'_ desperately, and then Draco turned away and locked the door.

****

Notes:

"fuckwankshitbuggerarseheadandhole" comes from Love Actually...

Can't think of any other references...


	39. Mad World

**Chapter 17**

 **Mad World**

There was a fine line, Draco decided, that separated sanity from insanity. The problem was that he wasn't entirely sure what side of that line he was currently standing on. Time had ceased to exist and when it had lurched back into view again, it seemed like hours after he had felt it leave. He didn't feel quite sane, and he didn't know if he would ever feel truly sane again. When he woke it could have been late night or early morning. The only thing he could honestly say was that it was dark. He wondered briefly if Harry had missed him and then he decided that he didn't really care. After tonight he figured that he'd be lucky if he kept Harry for another day.

But of course he did care, deep down, beneath the bravado, he cared very much.

Draco had no idea how he had fallen asleep. He was nowhere near the bed and he was thankful for that. He was on the lounge. A light was burning dully in a sconce on the wall and the room glowed eerily. He looked around, seeking out the familiarity of his Godfather and he found him, curled awkwardly on a leather wing-backed chair beside the fire.

So he hadn't gone near the bed either.

Draco forced himself up, not wanting to stay, but desperately afraid to leave. It wouldn't take much for Harry to find out. All it would need was an unguarded thought dropped carelessly into Harry's lap. Harry had promised not to look, not to press into Draco's mind without his permission, but he was only human, and if Draco had the gift of Legilimens, he'd be in every head in the school, without hesitation.

He had to leave. He had to go to his own bed, because if he stayed here he would have to wake up in the morning and she would be there…and he didn't want to have to deal with that. He made for the door, pausing for a moment at the chair where Snape was asleep. Gently he leaned down and pushed a lank shank of hair out of Snape's eyes. Snape's eyes opened, but he wasn't seeing Draco right because he mumbled, "go to sleep, Lucius," which caused Draco to smile sadly and gently place a kiss against Snape's pale lips. Draco was surprised by an immediate recognized response. A gentle crush of lips, the tip of Snape's tongue running across his inner lip and a murmured, "Lucius," into his throat; then Snape frowned sleepily and shifted on the chair.

Draco pulled back and ignored the stirring in his cock. He looked quizzically at his sleeping Godfather and whispered; "Good night, Uncle Severus."

Snape's eyes snapped open. "Draco?"

"Yeah."

Snape groaned, blinked and aggressively rubbed his mouth as though uncertain about what he'd just felt. "You should be in bed."

"I'm not four Professor."

"Go to bed, Draco." Snape's voice was tired and he was already sinking back into sleep.

Draco couldn't help but smile again. Not so long ago Snape was looking horrified and sick, now he was lost in the remembrance of thinking that Draco was Lucius. Draco could only hope that it was a good thing and that his dream was a pleasant one.

He let the door to Snape's chambers close behind him and his desolation returned full force. He felt so utterly alone in this. Snape had refused to help with the mad woman. Refused to come near her. Refused to do anything other than to recede into the background of his chambers with that look of horror that had lead Draco to hate himself for causing it.

But in his own mind, Draco knew he had no choice. He needed to learn things and in his mind he could only force himself to think of this as a mere business transaction and that was all. It was in the act itself that he realized that he had finally become what he had always driven himself to be. Draco had unwittingly become just like his father.

Snape had said it, mumbled something before pushing himself into an alcove and shutting himself off from what was happening. It wasn't until he finally spoke again; it could have been hours later, when he spoke and said "Lucius, stop it," that Draco even remembered that he was there. And it was those words that had driven home the truth. Once upon a time Draco would have welcomed such an event, now the realization served only to chill him.

He finally knew how his father thought; get what you want, at any cost. The prize is worth the payment even if the expense is that of your own self worth.

Draco reached the tower without even realizing that he had been heading in that direction. He stopped at the portrait hole and stared blankly at it, as though wondering how he had arrived there. The monk was sleeping, snoring loudly and looking incredibly comfortable in his place. Draco reasoned with himself that he didn't have to wake the painting; he could turn and walk away, return to the dungeon; to Snape's chambers, and sleep there. He could sleep on the lounge, and draw his Godfather down with him to sleep. It would almost be like sleeping under the protective wing of his father. Shielding him, making sure that he didn't feel the terrible overwhelming guilt and justifying his actions with soothing nonsense.

Snape could do that. Whilst he had never struck Draco as being affectionate, Lucius had loved Snape enough to make him Draco's Godfather, and Lucius was careful of those he truly loved. He wouldn't love someone who had no feelings.

But Harry was asleep in their room. The biggest complication in his plan as he tried to ignore his own irrational behavior. Harry. His beautiful Harry, who trusted him implicitly for some unknown reason and really shouldn't. Harry, who was no doubt fast asleep on his belly, sprawled across the bed, blankets askew. In the darkness Draco knew he'd be able to see the curve of a shoulder blade, his profile on the pillow, and his tousled hair like an inky stain on the pillow.

It would be warm in that bed. Draco knew full well that it would be. He would be able to slide in behind Harry and Harry would shift and move until they were spooned around each other. Skin on skin, wrapped in warm limbs and the scent of his flesh acting as a balm for the darkness in Draco's soul.

He would, of course, have to wash before he could even consider such comforts. He'd have to clean himself of all evidence of his evening. He could smell her. He could smell her on his skin, as though she had impregnated herself into his very pores. He could feel it. He could feel her under his skin taunting him even from a distance.

His lip began to curl in self -disgust. He was filthy, and he needed to scrub himself. He reached forward and tapped the picture frame.

The monk awoke suddenly, snorted and glared bleary eyed at the young man who had disturbed his rest. The monk had often considered himself unfortunate in his position; he had drawn the short straw as far as guardians of portrait holes. They had all laughed at the Fat Lady for years because as guardian of Gryffindor she was the guardian of the biggest collection of troublemakers in the school, but at least they went to bed at a reasonable hour. This special year; so unlike any of the houses, came and went as they pleased…and oh how they pleased. Since the school year had begun he had been up and down all night long, but as exams approached they had calmed down.

And so the monk looked down at the blond at the door and frowned. Draco raised an eyebrow and mumbled the password and the monk opened his mouth as though to reply, perhaps say something about the time, about how he was sleeping, something to make the blond in front of his portrait sorry for having woken him. But he looked a little closer at the tired face, kept his tirade to himself and allowed his portrait to swing open noiselessly.

Draco slumped into the Common Room and found it deserted. It must be very late. Draco wondered just how late…or perhaps people had gone into Hogsmeade and no one was back yet? Maybe Harry had gone with them and he wouldn't have missed Draco at all? But from somewhere Draco could hear the faint sound of snoring and some gentle murmurs from another place. The tower was asleep and Draco knew it. The tower was sleeping much as he should be sleeping.

Instead of going to bed Draco made for the shower. He couldn't lie beside Harry feeling like this. He couldn't hold him feeling this unclean.

He showered, washed his hair, scrubbed himself hard enough to make his flesh red and raw, and brushed his teeth until his gums bled. He looked in the mirror and stared for what seemed like forever. He scrutinized his features, staring at the familiar combination of facial landmarks that made him who he was. His eyes, the sharpness of his chin and his nose, the way he could look pinched and ugly when he was tired or feeling particularly mean. Inherited facets of his father's face. He had always thought that his cheekbones came from his mother, but no, they came from Lucius too. It was as though the fates had converged and made him the mirror image of the man who spawned him. Draco searched in vain for Narcissa and found nothing, as though age and experience had finally managed to push her out. The prettiness that had once betrayed his mother's bloodline in his features was finally gone and he now looked like the man who created him.

He wondered just how much influence Lucius had in this fate. Had it been a spell, cast on his own seed the night Lucius created his son? Draco wouldn't put it past him to do such a thing. The more he found out about his father the less Draco could put past him. The more he learned about his father the more he understood about his own inherited nature. It was as succinct as being able to say, "Get what you want regardless of the consequences."

Gods how could he love the man so much?

Because Lucius was his father and Lucius had always been there. Every year since Draco had started school he had arrived back at Kings Cross Station in some dreadful state or other (usually because Harry had foiled him yet again). Unconscious, covered in tentacles and Merlin only knew what else, and every year Lucius had been there to reverse it and pick up the pieces – not happily Draco had to admit – but he'd done it. Even after he went to prison Lucius had come back to Draco. He'd risked coming out of hiding just to be with his son. As evil as he was, Lucius loved Draco, and Draco knew it.

His father. His beautiful, glorious, evil, utterly unrepentant father.

Gods how he loved him.

But now there was Harry and as unlikely as it had once seemed to Draco, the solid reality was that he now loved Harry too. It was as horribly frightening, as it was wonderful and the longer the relationship continued the more Draco had to consider before helping his father. The more Draco had to consider that he could ruin everything by doing something that he knew Harry would never agree with.

But maybe he would because he loved Draco too.

Draco returned to the image before him, his father staring back at him. Was this what Harry saw when he looked at him? Did Harry see Lucius to the same extent that Draco did? And if he did, how could he stand it? For as beautiful as many people found him, Draco could not see it. He was not foolish, he knew he was good looking, it was something he had always taken for granted and if he was honest he would say that he had used those looks to get what he wanted as often as he could. But like most people who had lived a lifetime with their looks, he could see every flaw. His features were too sharp, his grey eyes could look dead, he had grown too fast and he seemed gangly and awkward. Whilst he looked just like his father, he was far too tall. He envied his fathers build and he was amazed that a flood of relief washed over him…he was not so much like his father that he had nothing left to wish for.

He found it odd that no one else noticed these flaws. He found it odd when Harry had stared at him incredulous when he had pointed out the flaws to him. Like his father, Lucius had developed a disdain for what he considered the fragility of his features. Deep down he wished that he looked harder and he had spent much of his life creating a scowl that made him look arrogant and spiteful.

Another of his father's characteristics. What else had he inherited? A certain attraction for other peoples flaws perhaps. He loved Harry's scar, the slightly drawn face that had seen too much, his lack of height and the way that his shoulders seemed to broad for his hips. He loved that ridiculous shock of hair that refused point blank to sit down, no matter what was done to it.

And so he loved flaws, just as Lucius loved flaws. He could remember one evening when he had returned home for Christmas, they were in front of the fire and Draco was laughing about just how ugly his Godfather was. Lucius had thoughtfully swirled his Brandy and said, "Oh I don't know, I think he's beautiful." Then Lucius had laughed when Draco had looked horrified at the very idea.

Could evil be inherited? Could a certain weakness of blood make an entire family line predisposed to be bad? There had never really been a Malfoy that had been considered a good person, so did he really have a choice?

He found it hard to believe, because he didn't feel like a bad person. But then tonight he had hardly acted like a saint. He'd had no choice…well, he'd had a choice but the alternative seemed so much worse.

It wasn't worth standing here all night wondering about it. Draco wrapped a thick toweling robe around himself and hurried from the bathroom before he could start thinking again. He padded silently across the Common Room and down the short corridor to his room.

Harry was, as Draco had predicted, fast asleep and Draco was more than a little relieved. Harry was a deep sleeper, and so long as he was quiet Draco figured he could sit and contemplate his life without interruption. He wanted Harry close though, the sound of his even breathing would calm him and for some reason knowing Harry was there was important at that moment.

Draco just hoped he would stay asleep.

Rummaging quietly through the bookcase, Draco located a joint, cast a weak Lumos charm and wedged himself in the space between the wall and the end of the bed, where the door to the balcony could be opened to let out the smoke. He opened the door a crack and a rush of cold air chilled him. It was, as it had been all winter, raining. He wished it would stop; it was probably the last month that there would be a chance of snow and Draco had been longing for it. It was an unreasonable wish. There was nothing special about snow, it was simply that Draco missed it and the rain had made the winter a miserable mud pit. Not that it mattered, they hadn't been allowed into Hogsmeade since coming back from the Christmas break, so it wasn't as though either he or Harry had tromped their way through the sludge.

He reached under the bed and pulled out one of his few remaining bottles of Fire Whiskey. He had started panicking over his dwindling stock, but Dumbledore had said that he was considering letting them go into the village in the next month, now that a lot of the furor over Harry's sexuality and their subsequent relationship had calmed down. The Daily Prophet had even stopped trying to get photographs of them together. This was probably due to the fact that Colin Creevy had taken a picture of Draco and Harry together watching Quidditch. Draco figured that Creevy must have seen nothing at all of the game because he would have had to have been watching Harry and Draco's every move to get the shot. In the rain Draco had put his cloak around both of them, which would have been proof enough, but Harry had leaned over and in a split second he had kissed the side of Draco's neck. It had been a small movement and the contact had been fleeting, but the picture had made the front page. Draco had hexed Creevy so viciously that he was in the hospital wing for a week, but as it turned out, the picture being published was probably for the best. Now that the world had seen it, they could gossip as much as they pleased, but the rush to get proof of the relationship was over, and the Prophet had finally begun to focus on far more important issues, such as the upcoming elections for Minister of Magic. Even some of the strange group of hangers on who had taken up residence in Hogsmeade had departed, seemingly realizing that Harry Potter might well be off limits or not at all interested.

He lit the joint and inhaled the smoke, letting it swirl through his lungs for a little before exhaling out the crack in the door, and then he swigged deeply from the whiskey, feeling a pleasurable shudder run down his back. It was time to get drunk or stoned and Draco fully intended to do both.

Harry stirred in the bed, and Draco heard the rustle of bedclothes moving and held his breath, willing Harry not to wake up. It would be far better for Harry to stay asleep. Draco was in no mood to talk about what was troubling him. He knew he would have to tell Harry eventually, but until he was certain of what was happening; and that there was no other way to help his father, he would rather say nothing at all. There seemed little point in fighting if all was hopeless.

"Draco?"

Draco closed his eyes in frustration and banged his head lightly back against the wall before saying, without bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. "Yeah baby, I'm here."

There was the sound of rustling in the bed and Draco could have kicked himself for not having sat alone in the Common Room. Harry's face appeared over the end of the bed, looking sleepy and concerned as he squinted to try and see Draco without his glasses. Harry asked, with a similar amount of irritation in his voice; "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Draco sighed and found himself smiling sadly, "I couldn't sleep, that's all."

As an afterthought he held the joint out to Harry and was surprised when Harry stretched a bare arm out from under the covers and took it. For some reason he hadn't expected Harry to take the proffered joint. Harry had never smoked pot in front of Draco before, he hadn't smoked anything in front of Draco, and a strange part of Draco had thought that he just simply didn't do it. Perhaps he thought Harry was too moral, or too sane?

But the fact that Harry didn't cough up a fit proved quite adequately that this wasn't the first time he'd smoked, nor the second. Harry held the smoke in his lungs like a seasoned professional and Draco couldn't help but find something sexy in it.

"For some reason I didn't think you smoked," Draco murmured softly.

Harry exhaled, took another toke and said, "What can I say?" he exhaled, "I didn't spend my entire school life buying sweets from Honeydukes."

"And there I was thinking you were Dumbledore's sweet little angel."

"Well," Harry grinned, "Dumbledore realized I was going to develop some bad habits…I think he overlooked them because he thought I was under a lot of stress."

"He knows you smoke pot?"

"Dumbledore knows almost everything about me."

"Everything?" Draco couldn't quite believe that.

"Yeah, he always has. It was kind of part and parcel of being his weapon of choice." Harry didn't sound at all bitter, despite the fact that he had just described himself as an object rather than a person.

"So, what else do you do that I don't know about?"

"Not much, I'm pretty boring."

"You're not boring. Have you ever smoked Opium?"

Harry nodded, taking in more of the joint and frustrating Draco by not handing it back, "amongst other things."

"Junkie," Draco couldn't help but laugh.

"Drunk," Harry shot back evenly.

Draco offered the Fire Whiskey in hopes of getting the joint back, and after a moment's hesitation Harry gave him the joint but didn't take the bottle. Instead he disappeared under the covers and Draco could hear him fumbling about. Moments later Harry climbed out of bed, his glasses on and wrapped in the blankets. He sat himself down beside Draco and took the bottle from his hands. He sipped the whiskey and grimaced at the taste.

"Gods, that's disgusting, how do you drink that?"

"You get used to it."

"You shouldn't be drinking that rubbish. It's bad for you."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Like you, I am allowed to have bad habits."

Harry nodded silently and handed the whiskey back to Draco. Tendrils of a glorious high had begun to wind their way into his head and he leaned back against the wall. "Where have you been all night?" There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity and unmistakable concern, but he felt Draco tense beside him anyway.

"With Snape," Draco replied shortly. He didn't want to get into a conversation about his night and he turned his head slightly away from Harry, not wanting to share anything.

Harry sighed and bowed his head and knew full well that they wouldn't get anywhere without a fight. Harry could only come to the conclusion that it had something to do with Draco's father, something that was a taboo subject and always would be. It would be best to leave it alone, and yet Harry felt his mouth open and seemingly without any control he heard his voice come from his mouth saying, "is it about your Dad?"

Draco took five large gulps of Fire Whiskey and Harry gagged for him. Then Draco shivered, but he was no longer cold, it was more the anticipation that he may be about to have a conversation that could well ruin everything, and he didn't want to be having it. He wanted to go to bed, make love, and pretend that Harry had never asked about Lucius.

"Have you been?"

"Been?" Harry frowned, confused, "Been where?"

"To that exhibition. That Death Eater thing."

"No." Harry looked at Draco's pale features and tried to see what Draco was thinking, Draco seemed tired, but he knew what he was thinking; that Harry thought Lucius Malfoy had got everything he deserved. "I never agreed with the Kiss as a punishment," Harry said, trying to put that fear to rest, "I always thought it was vicious."

"Then what would you have them do? Kill him? Put him in prison with the Dementors?"

Harry sighed, "I don't know, I've never really thought about the alternatives."

"I've been," Draco slurred bitterly, heading back to his original thought. "I've been to see it."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "I sent Snape to get you."

Draco smiled sadly, "I should have known it was you who sent him."

"You shouldn't have gone," Harry took the joint from Draco and lit it again, "you didn't need to see that."

"Yes I did." Draco looked Harry in the eye and continued, "I had to see what they did to him. The last time I saw my father he was screaming into a Dementor's throat and when he was still they picked him up out of the chair and carried him out of the room like he was a pile of rags. Outside the Ministry people had gathered to gloat. Hundreds of Wizards all calling out…baying for blood. The Muggles thought it was some kind of weird rally. Snape was trying to get me out and into a car without anyone noticing me. He'd pulled my hood over my head. Someone came out of the Ministry and this huge cheer went up. I looked and I saw that this person, this…Auror, had cut my father's ponytail off and they were holding it up like a trophy and everyone was cheering, dancing in the street, sending up fireworks."

Harry swallowed, and he knew what was going to come next.

"I saw you there with Hermione and the Weasel. You looked so happy, and you were laughing so hard that you were crying. You hated him that much. Everyone hated him that much."

"I…" Harry took the whiskey and swallowed a mouthful, and then another. "Your…Lucius Malfoy was the last of them. Bellatrix Lestrage died in battle, but Lucius was the last of the Death Eaters that were close to Voldemort. No one saw Voldemort die, no one had the satisfaction of that moment…Lucius getting the Kiss was like a substitute, they saw him as representing Voldemort…that's why they were elated."

"But _you_ saw Voldemort die. You killed him. What was your excuse?"

"I…I don't know." Harry bowed his head, feeling a shame rush through him, "I was…caught up with the crowd."

"No," Draco stared straight ahead, wishing he was drunker than he was. "No Harry, you just hated him, that's all."

Harry didn't know what to say. It was true, Harry did hate Lucius Malfoy. He hated him with a passion. But Draco loved the man and nothing was going to change that. Harry had never known his own father. He'd never had the pleasure of such a strong bond. He only knew what others said of him, the fleeting memories that had been revealed to him over the years. James Potter was dead and gone before Harry was old enough to understand that loss, but it wasn't the same for Draco. He had been raised by his parents; both of his parents, and he had thousands of memories of them. Memories that didn't involve Lucius trying to kill him. His memories of his father were of a loving, caring man who would do anything for him.

And Lucius was not dead. It would possibly have been better if he had died. Then Draco could bury him as Narcissa had been buried and Draco could mourn the loss and get on with his life. Instead Draco was left in a strange kind of limbo. Trying desperately to save the empty shell that was his father.

"Yes," Harry said slowly, "yes, I hated him. He…we…"

"He tried to kill you," Draco said with more understanding than Harry considered possible, "I can understand you hating him. At least you had that as a cause, it was more than most could claim."

"You still should never have gone to that exhibition," Harry said again, "Fudge won't win this election, because everyone knows how incompetent he was during the war. Mr. Weasley will win and he'll stop this exhibition, then he'll send your father home to you. You'll get him back."

"That could take months."

"But it will happen," Harry said insistently. "Your father has waited this long, he can wait a few months more. He probably isn't even aware of what is going on. The Kiss, you know…it renders them senseless, he…"

Draco was looking perplexed, and on the verge of tears.

"You can't be unhappy forever, Draco, he wouldn't want you to be. You said yourself that he wanted you to be happy."

"I…" Draco's voice cracked slightly, "I am happy," he reached out and grasped Harry's wrist, "I am happy, I just can't help wanting him to be safe."

"But he is safe, no one is going to hurt him in the museum."

Draco shuffled awkwardly and he paled, looking as though he would be sick.

"What is going on Draco?"

"Nothing."

"You're not good at lying to me."

Which was true all things considered. Draco decided that he must be out of practice. He was good at evasion however, but now that Harry was on to something he wasn't going to let it go.

"Tell me what is going on. I'm sick of all these secret visits to Snape. What can you tell him that you can't tell me?"

"It's not that I can't tell you things," Draco realized his voice was sounding whining, "he just…he just understands some things that you can't."

"Like what? The fact that you love your father?"

"It's not that…"

"Then what is it?"

"It's nothing."

"It obviously isn't _'nothing'._ Draco. Just tell me what is going on. Is it something at the museum? Why are you so worried about him? He can't feel anything, and he doesn't know what is going on. He's not lying in some stinking cell in Azkaban; he's in the museum. Aside from being on display; which I concede is fucking crap, what is there to be worried about?"

"How do you know he can't feel? How do you know that he's not aware? Have you ever been through the Kiss? Do you know what it's like?"

"It's a known fact Draco!"

"It is not! You don't know what he's going through! You don't fucking care what he's going through, and you don't care that some fucking pervert is raping him. You couldn't care less if he died tomorrow!"

Harry's mouth had fallen open and he suddenly reached out and grabbed Draco's arms. Draco was a mess, his face red, and his body shaking. Harry had never seen Draco reduced to sharp exposed pieces like this before. Harry had never seen Draco with tears of frustration and fear running down his face. How long had this been going on? How long had he known these things? "Who's raping your father?"

"N-n-no one…I…I was ranting, it's nothing…"

"IT'S NOT FUCKING NOTHING DRACO!"

Draco jumped. "Please Harry, just let me deal with this in my own way. Uncle Severus is helping me, so we don't have to talk about it."

"Who is hurting him? How do you know?"

"The…the Curator, he…he's a collector…he…Severus knows…he…Dad…" But in the end, Non had not yet returned from the museum, no one knew anything.

"If the Curator is hurting your father then we need to tell someone. The Ministry needs to know!"

Draco stared, incredulously. "Harry, no one gives a rats arse about what happens to my father. The Ministry gave him to the Curator. They gave him to that bastard like he was some kind of gift."

"They can't have known, Draco, you can't tell me that the Ministry knows what he is doing."

"They wouldn't care if they did know. Fudge once said that if our entire bloodline were wiped out, then it would be a good thing for the Wizarding world. I highly doubt that the news would upset him terribly."

Harry fell silent, unable to process anything past the thought that the story was unbelievable. The very idea sickened him. Who would find pleasure in a sexual act with someone who could not respond? But how did Draco know this? How did he know it was happening? It seemed an obvious question and Harry couldn't help but ask it.

"We don't know, not for certain, not yet anyway. Dumbledore told Severus that he had his suspicions. But before that, at Christmas…" Draco paled and his mouth snapped shut.

"What happened at Christmas?"

"The Curator tried to…" this was a bad idea and Draco knew it, but he'd gone too far now to stop, "he used the _Imperius_ curse I think. I couldn't control my body, I was just sort of standing there…"

Harry had paled considerably, a terrible seed of thought growing in his mind. "What did he do to you?"

"He, I don't know, I was just standing…"

 _"What did he do to you?"_ Harry said slowly, as though he was talking to a child.

"He kissed me…he touched me…"

"HE KISSED YOU? HE TOUCHED YOU?"

"I couldn't stop him, I couldn't move. I tried to fight it…but I couldn't…"

"What else did he do?" Harry was angry now, his voice was high pitched and strained.

"Nothing. The case suddenly shattered. It just exploded and he stopped."

"Case? What case?"

"The one my father was in. Severus came in and got me and my Dad was on the floor and he spoke, he told me to run."

"He spoke? He spoke to you?"

"He told me to run." Draco closed his eyes and fresh tears began to spill down his cheeks.

Harry pulled him close, holding him tenderly; mortified that Draco hadn't been able to tell him what had happened. "I'm going to kill him."

"Don't go to the museum, please don't confront him."

"I'm not going to confront him, I'm going to kill him!"

But Draco was crying hard now and Harry had to calm himself so that he could take the joint and put it out, close the door and put the lid on the Fire Whiskey. Draco needed to sleep and Harry needed to digest what he had learned tonight. There was more to it; of that Harry was certain, but he wouldn't learn anything else tonight. Draco was too upset.

"Let's just get some sleep, you're tired. "Harry pushed himself up from the floor and reached down to help Draco to his feet. "You need to rest. You can't get yourself worked up over this or you'll make yourself sick."

But Draco seemed inconsolable; his breath coming in harsh rasping gulps. "Don't leave me…"

"I'm not going to leave you."

"Promise me! Promise me you won't go."

"I'm not going to leave, I'll never leave."

Draco kissed him, hard and aching. There was no passion in this kiss, only harsh desperation and Harry broke the kiss, pulling Draco's face to his throat, hugging him tightly and guiding him to the bed. They didn't make love, but instead they lay together, relishing the touch of skin against skin. Draco's rasping breaths calmed in Harry's arms and entwined they were able to sleep, both determined never to let go.

*******

"Hermione?"

Hermione lifted her head briefly from the pillow into which she had buried her face and, upon seeing it was still dark, she groaned and collapsed back into the bedding.

"Really Miss Granger," came an irritated reply, "I would prefer it if you looked at me before you ignored me."

Hermione opened her eyes into the pillow and strained her ears. It was not Lavender. Lavender would never sound that authoritarian, especially when it was still dark. Then again, was it even morning? It could well be midnight…except that she was still awake at midnight. And Lavender would never refer to her as 'Miss Granger'.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione lifted her head, disorientated and then finally she turned her head and jumped.

"It is time to wake up Miss Granger!"

Realization finally dawned on Hermione, and unaccustomed to disobeying a teacher, especially Professor McGonagall whom she had always felt a little intimidated by, she sat up, wide eyed and gaped at her Transfiguration Mistress.

Minerva rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, her arms folded hard across her chest. It was not her custom to wake students, and it was certainly not her custom to offer advice on their personal lives. However, now that she was standing here, in a room that reeked of self pity and unwashed hair, bodies and clothes, she wished that she had thought twice about coming here this morning.

She could not help but think of Hermione as something more than a student. She felt the same way about Harry and Ron. They had been through so much, and she could never remember three children so young who were just so brave. She had watched all three of them face down an enemy who had made Wizards three times their age flee in terror. They were far more than just her students; they always would be. And now Hermione was so much more than even that. She had melted a reserve that Minerva had always considered glacial in its coldness, and if Severus couldn't see sense, she was determined that Hermione would.

Now all she had to do was get Hermione to wake up fully enough to talk to her.

"Miss Granger, I would appreciate it greatly if you would answer me and give me some indication that that you are awake."

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Well, I'm glad that your powers of recognition have not been dulled." Minerva meant it tongue in cheek, but she highly doubted that the girl could fathom wit in her current state. She heard the sound of blankets rustling and from the corner of her eye she saw Lavender Brown sit up in her own bed and sleepily scratch her mop of dark hair.

"Good morning Professor McGonagall," Lavender mumbled sleepily and Minerva nodded curtly in reply.

"I, I'm sorry Professor," Hermione stuttered, "I, I d-didn't realize it was you."

"Well I think that was fairly evident."

Hermione blushed in the dark and when Minerva cast a Lumos charm she flushed a deeper red as she realized the state of the room. It was truly a mess.

Minerva swept a critical eye over the floor and was disgusted to see Hermione's ginger cat eating what looked like the remains of week old ice cream from a discarded container on the floor.

"Um," Hermione attempted to smile, and tried to avert her Professor's attention from the discarded food containers on the floor. "Um, Professor, _why_ are you here?"

Minerva pulled her gaze away from the mess with a look of disgust and though she tried to soften her expression a little, it was harder than she thought. "I have been sending you messages all week Miss Granger, but as it seems you have stopped opening your post, I thought it would be best if I came myself."

"You…you've been sending me letters?"

"More an invitation than letters Miss Granger, I would like you to come and have breakfast with me this morning."

"Breakfast? With you Professor?"

Minerva looked around and wondered just what had happened to her prize student's brilliant mind. "Yes, Miss Granger," she said as though speaking to an infant. "Breakfast this morning, with me."

Hermione's mouth worked open and closed and she couldn't help but shake her head to try and clear it. "W-When?"

"This morning Miss Granger. I expect you in my chambers within the hour, showered, groomed and hopefully with your mind in more of a state to converse than it currently appears to be."

Hermione could do little more than nod, and then she cast a look at Lavender who was staring bewildered at the woman in the centre of the room.

Minerva turned to go and stepped into a half finished plate of shepherd's pie, which Minerva knew hadn't been served since Wednesday. She looked back at the two girls and shook her head with disgust. "For Gods sake, if you have any respect for yourselves clean this pigsty up."

And with that she was gone.

Lavender and Hermione exchanged another look and both sniffed the rather close air in the room.

"I didn't think it was that bad," Lavender said, trying to be helpful. They both looked around at the filthy state of the room.

It was bad.

**********

Non was asleep in the cupboard, well, as asleep as he seemed to be these days. He did not return to the tiny space he had been given when he had first arrived at the museum. Instead he secreted himself in the cupboard, close to his Master and his demented captor. Just why he stayed so close he did not know, as there was nothing that he could do to help Lucius. All he could do was watch and wait and try to give some kind of comfort when the Curator was gone.

He had promised to return to Hogwarts on Friday, but it was now Sunday morning and he was beginning to fear his new master's wrath. He did not know how Severus Snape treated House Elves, but he knew full well that if he'd told Lucius Malfoy he would be somewhere on Friday and didn't turn up until Sunday, there would be hell to pay. And so he knew that his day was not going to be brilliant. He knew he had to report back today.

"Lucius, wake up my Angel."

Non's eyes snapped open and he knew that his day was going to start as they had each day since he arrived. It sickened him to know what was coming next, what would come after the Curator was satisfied that his lover was awake. It was a mystery to Non as to why the Curator bothered to wake Lucius. Awake or asleep his body would react the same way.

He listened to the Curator take his pleasure and wished he could somehow close his ears to it. He could leave. He should leave. He must go back to Hogwarts and tell Master Severus what the Curator was doing. He should, but he couldn't, because leaving Lucius at that moment was unthinkable.

It took an age, and the Curator spoke to his lover throughout, telling him how much he should be enjoying the attentions, telling him how beautiful he was, telling him how good he felt inside, and Lucius; if he spoke at all, could only be heard by the Curator. Lucius' voice no doubt ringing inside the Curator's head.

Then came the ringing sound of a slap and Non jumped, shocked.

The Curators voice came, "You ungrateful bastard!" and then another slap and a thud, as something landed on the floor.

"Remember our deal my Angel, because I can assure you I will have no hesitation in taking what I want if you don't fulfill your part."

Non ventured a look out from the cupboard in time to see Lucius on the floor and the Curator kick his Angel hard in the back and then the hip. Non hastily pulled back into the cupboard as the Curator spun on his heal, his wand out and he screamed out "NON!" and waved the wand in summoning.

Non Apparated in front of the Curator and tried desperately to hide his concern over the body curled on the floor. He looked at Semeuse and noticed him favoring his left wrist, there was a nasty red welt there, and further up his arm blood was seeping through the sleeve of his white nightshirt. Non guessed that somehow Lucius had lashed out and Non wondered just how he had managed it. It certainly hadn't helped him. Lucius was now lying in a heap on the floor. But then perhaps he preferred to be on the floor than under the Curator?

"I have to get the Sais room ready for the exhibition to return tonight, and the new case for Lucius is arriving this morning. I do not have time to clean up this," he looked at Lucius lying limply on the floor, "this mess."

Non nodded vaguely, wishing Lucius could move so that Non knew he was alright.

"Get him off the floor, wash him and dress him and make sure he looks fine. If he gets a bruise you will inform me so that I can get someone here to fix him."

"Yes Master Semeuse."

"Don't let him go outside. He gets no additional privileges today."

"Yes Master Semeuse."

Semeuse crouched beside Lucius and wrenched his face up in his hand, "I will not tolerate this attitude, Lucius. You should think yourself lucky that you are here and not rotting in some dungeon in Azkaban. I give you everything you could ever want and you repay me with..."

Lucius had obviously said something in return because the Curator had stopped mid sentence and slapped him again. Non flinched as the Curator hurled him back to the floor.

Non couldn't help but be surprised. He had watched the Curator with Lucius and was so convinced of the Curator's devotion that he had not considered the possibility that he could become enraged and hurt the man he referred to as his Angel. But it was obviously so and Non, who had considered the Curator insane before, was suddenly aware of just how dangerous the man truly was.

Semeuse rubbed his wrist and glanced, irritated, at the blood seeping through his sleeve. He sneered at Non and made for the door, heading for his dressing room. Non knew that he wouldn't return to the room until he had done some of his days work. The Curator did not use the small bathroom attached to the bedchamber. There was another in the dressing room and from there the Curator always went to the Museum to do his work. It was possible that he would come back during the day, but Non guessed that he was angry enough to stay away.

Then again, he might be wracked with remorse and come back anyway.

Suddenly Non felt an irrational irritation, something that did not sit entirely well with the fact that he was a House Elf. Without the Curator to observe him, he placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. Just how had Lucius managed to get himself into this mess? How had such a mighty house fallen so far? Non had served the House of Malfoy for over eighty years and he was almost certain that he could hear the Malfoy ancestors turning in their graves at this humiliation.

He moved to Lucius and with some effort he rolled the unwilling body on to its back. Lucius did not look good. Non did not think it was possible to look so pale and yet not be dead. His eyes were rimmed red and yet under them appeared hollow and almost blue. Hair that had been cut only a week ago was already growing and now flirted around his chin. Despite it's beautiful color it seemed lack luster, brittle and dull.

"I need to get you off the floor, Master Lucius."

"Just leave me here, I might get lucky and die."

Non shook his head again and was shocked to find the idea tempting. "You're not going to die, Master Lucius."

"Pity."

Non snapped his fingers and Lucius rose from the floor and floated his toes a few millimeters off the rug. Non knew full well that he hated the sensation, but as Non had no real means of lifting him, he decided that it had to be this way. He had to get him into the bath, and clean him of the Curator's filth. He began to maneuver the body to the bathroom and Lucius made a disgruntled sound that was clearly audible and not only in Non's head. He stopped with a sigh.

"What is it Master Lucius?" Non's voice sounded strained, and whilst he could hear it himself and had to fight the urge to hit himself over the head, Lucius appeared to notice nothing at all.

"I don't want a bath; just let me sleep for a bit. I can have a bath later."

"You smell, Master Lucius, and the Curator explicitly wanted you washed."

"Why? So he can have a clean arse to fuck?"

Non actually stamped his foot impatiently. "I need to do as he says, Master Lucius, if I don't he will punish me and as he is not my true Master I don't see why I should be punished just because you don't want a bath!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, Elf!"

"You are not my Master any more either! My Master is at Hogwarts and he expected me back on Friday. I've stayed because you wouldn't let me leave, but I have disobeyed him long enough."

Lucius fell silent and Non closed his eyes. He had never spoken this way to anyone, certainly not to Lucius Malfoy and he looked at the body hanging limp in the air, silent and still.

"Non is sorry, Master Lucius, Non should never have spoken to his Master that way."

Still no voice came. Lucius just hung there, silently.

"Non will let Master Lucius sleep."

"No, I'll have a bath."

Non cringed inwardly. Lucius sounded distinctly cowed as though he knew that there was nothing at all he could do, that he, Lucius Malfoy was completely dependent on whoever chose to show him some small kindness and at the mercy of those who chose not to. He didn't speak again, but he allowed himself to be bathed without fuss. He was gently dried, his hair combed through and then he was dressed in fresh bedclothes. Non chattered throughout, trying to get some kind of response, but none came. It was as though whatever wall had kept Lucius from the world had once again descended.

His face had begun to bruise, revealing just how hard the Curator must have hit him. Lucius lay silent in the bed and Non watched as his eyes began to grow heavy as he fought off sleep. He didn't look well and the bruise that was starting to come out would look stark against his chalky skin. Non sat beside him and stroked his silky hair. He would return to Hogwarts when Lucius was asleep and he would be sure to be quick, because he was determined to be back before he woke again.

**********


	40. Mad World Part 2

_Chapter 17 Part 2_

~

Hermione climbed the stairs of Gryffindor Tower with a strange wistfulness that she could only put down to a longing for a simpler time. She passed the Fat Lady, pausing for a brief moment and smiling faintly. Would it be the same, going in there now? Would she feel the same sense of comfort from the Common Room that she had once felt? She still had friends in Gryffindor and she had no doubt that she could mend her fences with Ginny. Like anything worthwhile, it would just take time.

But Gryffindor as a home seemed a lifetime ago and she was a different person now. Her life had changed the moment the war had begun, and by the time it was over there was no trace of the naive girl that she had once been so very long ago.

And so Gryffindor was in her past and she should be content to continue on up the stairs to Professor McGonagall's chambers and towards the adulthood she had once been so eager to experience.

Outside McGonagall's door Hermione smoothed her hair to the best of her ability. It was untamable at the best of times, but she had made an effort, smoothing a lot of serum through it and tying it back as tightly as she could. She had dressed with some care, deciding that perhaps a dress might be far more appropriate for breakfast with her Professor. It was a plain black wool number, with long sleeves and she had to scavenge through both Lavender and her own drawers to find stockings without runs. She looked thoroughly respectable, if not a little nunnish.

She practiced a few amiable smiles before finally knocking at the door. It swung open to admit her and she stepped into a beautiful room full of light and what she could only consider sunshine. It was dazzling and she wondered how the Professor had managed to conjure the effect so thoroughly.

McGonagall was seated at a small breakfast table beside one of the full length windows, and behind her a large grey owl was sleeping peacefully on its perch. In the distance she could hear the sound of rain, but there was no sign of it beating against this sanctuary. The room was thoroughly enchanted.

"Hermione dear, sit down and make yourself comfortable."

Hermione did a double take. There was none of the formality from earlier; a formality that she was used to and she had only ever seen slip once, when the Professor was drunk at the New Years Eve party. Hermione smiled nervously and lowered herself into the chair opposite. On the table there appeared a veritable feast of fresh fruit and pastries, a far cry from the heavy breakfasts that she was used to in the Great Hall. Not that she had ever tried to get anything lighter, but as she thought back she seemed to recall Draco usually got yogurt and seemed to exist almost entirely on fruit.

"Breakfast looks lovely, Professor."

"Please, Hermione, I think we have come far enough to dispense with formalities, I would appreciate it if you called me Minerva. I think I told you to on New Years Eve."

"Y-yes Professor," she blushed, "Sorry, Minerva, I just, well, you were…"

"Incredibly drunk at New Years?" Minerva smiled indulgently, "Hermione, I am able to drink and still have perfect recollection of what I said and did the next day. I told you then to call me Minerva, and I meant it."

Hermione smiled and bowed her head. "Well, thank you, Minerva." She looked the older woman in the eye and tried to sound confident as she continued, "so, w-why did you want to see me, Minerva?"

Minerva smiled pleasantly and offered Hermione coffee. "I wanted to talk to you about Severus."

Hermione paled, but inside her belly hope blossomed. "Severus?

"Yes," Minerva was still smiling in that strange indulgent way, "you do remember him don't you?"

Hermione felt her face go from white back to pink, "yes, of course I remember him."

"Good, well, I thought we should perhaps discuss just what we are going to do about him."

"Do? About Severus?"

Minerva sighed, a mild irritation cutting through the pleasant exterior, "Yes, Hermione, about Severus."

Hermione nodded, flushed again and looked away. She was perfectly aware that her face was a mask of confusion and she felt a rush of embarrassment at the fact that she couldn't seem to actually get her mind around anything Minerva was actually saying. What exactly did Minerva think they could do about Severus? What business was it of theirs what Severus did? Did Minerva think they could influence him? Hermione seriously doubted the possibility, she had never considered Severus Snape to be the kind of man that could be influenced or manipulated in any way.

"I…" Hermione frowned and tried to look remotely intelligent, "I don't think that there is anything that _we_ can do about Severus. He's made his decision…he doesn't want to be with me, and there's nothing I can do about that."

Minerva rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Oh, for goodness sake, don't be so ridiculous girl. Really Hermione, I always thought you were a smart girl, that you had some kind of instincts!" She snorted, her nostrils flaring, "Severus Snape is nowhere near as complex as you think he is. At the end of the day, he is a man and that is all. You have spent so long building him up to be the boogey man that you can't quite grasp that there is nothing more to him than the same basic insecurities that plague all of us! Severus wants to be with you, and I dare say he loves you more than he has loved anyone for a very long time. The problem is that he doesn't think he deserves you. He; poor stupid fool, thinks he is being noble, standing aside so that you can live some kind of life that he imagines is going to be wonderful for you without him in it. Of course, he's being a bloody stupid twit, but then, that's Severus. He can be absolutely infuriating when he wants to be." She smiled affectionately. "Of course; he can be absolutely infuriating when he doesn't want to be as well."

Hermione would have smiled, had she not felt so dejected. "Even if that is true, I don't see how I can do anything about it. He's made up his mind."

"Then you need to unmake it for him."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

Minerva sat back and positively beamed back at Hermione, "well, now there's some of the spark I was hoping to find."

Hermione couldn't help but pinch the bridge of her nose, utterly confused. "He's too stubborn, and I really don't see what I can do to change his mind."

"Well, you can try leaving your room for a start!"

Hermione's jaw hardened visibly. Why the hell did everyone have an opinion on the way she grieved?

"How do you expect to convince him that you're a grown up if you sit in that little room, unwashed, stinking and covered in junk food induced acne? He thinks you need to grow up and all you are doing is ensuring that he continues to think that. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, and so should Miss Brown for that matter. What were you thinking, locking yourself away like that? How are you supposed to get yourself through school if you refuse to come to classes? You're acting like a fifteen year old, when you need to act like the adult that you are!"

Hermione pushed herself away from the table and impulsively stood and started to pace. She felt sick, she didn't need this, she didn't need to be told how to act! "I'm eighteen years old!" she cried suddenly, "Why is everyone so eager for me to act like I'm thirty? Who knows, perhaps Severus is right, maybe I am too young for this! Maybe he needs someone older, more mature, someone who wouldn't be so stupid as to write up a contract like that and who acts like everyone thinks I should!"

"Well, perhaps you're right there," Minerva raised an eyebrow and purposely sipped her tea, "after all, who but a child would have written that ridiculous contract? How immature are the three of you? Look at the trouble you caused yourself." She sipped her tea again, purposely, deliberately, not looking at Hermione at all, with a tiny smile playing about her lips. "Of course you should be far more mature at eighteen. I'd expect you to be mature enough to marry the wrong man and have his children whilst never forgetting the true love of your life. I'd expect you to be mature enough to have the piece of mind to dupe Gringotts into giving you thousands of galleons and to then endure years at Azkaban as a result, and I expect you to be mature enough to run off and join a band of Death Eaters to spite the people who tormented you at school! For Gods sake Hermione, we have all been eighteen years old; we've all done stupid things that we regret later. I'm not asking you to act as though you are thirty years old, I'm just asking you to look a little further into the future than next week and to look a little more closely into the reasons why Severus has left you!"

"I know why he left me! He thinks I should grow up; he wants me to screw around and live a life. He wants me to live my life without him!"

"He loves you, you know and I think that counts for something."

Hermione sank back into her chair and absently pushed some stray hairs back from her face, then slowly she bowed her head into her hands. "I wish the contract had never existed, I wish I had never been so stupid."

"In the scheme of things, Hermione, it isn't such a terrible thing. It was a silly piece of paper and you were drunk…"

"Severus said that being drunk was no excuse," Hermione said quietly.

"Well Severus is a fool, and he has no right to act as though he's never done a foolish thing…ask him about the Malfoy family car one day and the whole Contract fiasco will look like a minor blot on a scrap of old parchment."

"The Malfoy family car?"

"Long story dear, and not for me to tell." Minerva shook her head again, and then suddenly smiled at the memory. "What I don't understand is why you felt the need for the contract."

"We were drunk," Hermione, blurted out lamely, "and it was like we realized that we were virgins and we didn't want to be…it was like we had missed out on some crucial part of growing up, holed up waiting for the war to end."

"Good grief, it wasn't as though you were ancient! And again, why the contract? I can't understand why you didn't have some drunken sloppy threesome and get it over with then and there!"

Hermione's mouth fell open and her eyes goggled. She was still getting used to calling her Professor by her first name, and she certainly didn't expect to hear her suggest that she should have had a threesome with Harry and Ron…but now that it was mentioned, it wouldn't have been such a bad idea. Minerva was looking at her expectantly and Hermione realized with some surprised that she was waiting for an answer. She blushed, "Well, I think we were probably too scared to do it with each other. There was so much we didn't know…Harry being gay for one thing."

Minerva couldn't help but chuckle, "I'd say that was a shock for everyone."

"Least of all Harry," Hermione sounded slightly amused, but her face was sad and she was pinching the bridge of her nose again. "I thought Severus would understand. He understood every other stupid thing I'd done, and he was so good about everything when I never expected him to be…but he just couldn't get past this."

"Well, you insulted him rather badly I'm afraid and once he read that, he started thinking; and with Severus, thinking is the worst possible thing he can do. He jumped from being compared to a Hag to not deserving happiness so fast it made his head spin.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but could think of nothing to say and any questions seemed obvious. Minerva took her cue and smiled gently before continuing.

"Severus found himself ominously close to being truly content and happy, and he couldn't let that happen, so he ruined it. It really is as simple as that." She said it so matter of factly that Hermione was certain that this character flaw must be common knowledge and that she alone was ignorant of it.

"But…but why would he do that?"

"Once again, a very long story and I don't know if I even have it right. I guess I have my own theory but I at least have some knowledge of his background on which to base it."

"Where as I have nothing."

"Has he ever spoken to you about his childhood? About why he was a Death Eater?"

Hermione shrugged slightly, "Not really. He only mentioned his parents once or twice…I don't think he liked them very much."

"No, he didn't." Minerva pursed her lips, as though uncertain that she should say anything. She hadn't planned on discussing her friends past, but when she thought about it, she really wasn't sure what she had planned to do. In the end she wondered if the end (somehow reconciling the couple) justified that means (telling Hermione Severus' past without his permission.). She had to make the decision quickly, because Hermione was certainly looking at her as though anticipating learning something new. Minerva had seen the look on the girl's face a thousand times in class. She decided that she should just plough into it, and hoped that Severus would forgive her later – if he found out.

"He didn't like his family very much at all," Minerva continued, "not that he ever really talked about them. One of the few things that comes from being a Professor is that you learn a good many things about your students lives, even if they don't know that you know. One of the reasons that Severus and Lucius Malfoy were good friends; aside from the fact that they grew up together, was that their fathers came from the same mould. I think Albus once described Snape Senior as being a…" She frowned, thinking back, "…as a 'fucking mean piece of shit'," She couldn't help but laugh then, because Hermione's face registered pure shock. "As far as I know, his parents actually loved each other, but they had horrific fights and when they couldn't fight with each other any more they turned it onto their son who was too young to fight back. His mother had occasional fits of conscience, but even that she could not get quite right. She'd decide to get him away from the house and the arguing. I remember seeing them once in Diagon Alley. It was the middle of winter and she was rugged up in one of those god-awful furs she used to swathe herself in, whilst Severus was standing beside her without a coat looking a little like a stray dog. I didn't know them back then, but I remember seeing them. It was Albus who told me who they were. It was another three years before Severus came to Hogwarts, but I recognized him the moment he walked through the doors.

I think when he started at Hogwarts he was relieved to be away from home. Having said that, he was a dark little boy. I never knew a child who could do so many hexes whilst so very young! Lucius was in his final year and treated Severus like his little pet, showing off his nasty abilities…and it was the fact that he was so skilled with the dark arts that drew the attention of James Potter and Sirius Black. James and Sirius were loveable rogues, and pranksters who made the Weasley twins look like perfect saints. They were good at everything they turned their minds to and I suppose you could say they had a charmed existence."

"But you saw the house Sirius grew up in," Hermione looked concerned. "I'd hardly say his existence was charmed."

"True, but what you have to understand is that many purebloods have shitty family lives, and at least Sirius had the ability to make friends that truly liked him. Don't get me wrong, Hermione. I had no love for Severus Snape. I thought he was a weird little oddball just like everyone else did, but James and Sirius took to tormenting him like you would never believe. At first it wasn't so bad, because Lucius was still here and stood up for Severus when he felt like it, but of course Lucius could be a right shit to him when he wanted to be as well. I didn't really care all that much about the Slytherins. As far as I was concerned my duty was to my own house, and what happened over at Slytherin had nothing to do with me. Of course, once Lucius was gone, Severus was fair game and suddenly it was my concern because I had to punish James and Sirius for doing what they did best, hexing people for the fun of it."

Hermione remained silent. Harry had once hinted that his father had been less than perfect in his youth. She remembered that Harry was so proud that everyone thought him so like his father and then after fifth year he changed a lot, when he realized that whilst he might look like his father, he had his mother's compassion and he was far more proud of that. Back then however, all three of them had hated their Potions Master so much that anything bad that had happened to him was a cause for celebration. It wasn't funny now. Somewhere along the line she had forgotten that she had once been the odd one out. It had taken her so long to make friends with anyone. That awful sinking feeling when Ron had made the callous comment, "it's no wonder she hasn't got any friends," haunted her still, as though her very personality was so intrinsically wrong that no one could possibly like her.

Minerva saw the troubled look on Hermione's face and reached out to gently pat her hand. "Severus gave as good as he got, I can assure you of that. He hated James with a passion, and I still can't understand what drove the hatred between the two of them, but it was strong." She shook her head, "my god, I'd almost forgotten how bad it was between them. Still, Severus worked hard to be a good student. He would hand in these assignments that were so in depth that they would take an hour to read and you'd have to use a magnifying glass because he'd squeeze so many lines into a single roll of parchment that it looked like gibberish when you first picked it up. He was almost anal in his attention to detail. The point is that he worked hard at every turn. He worked hard at his spells, he worked hard on his homework, he worked hard on exams…and he had a particular gift for hexes."

Hermione smiled when she heard that, and she wondered what she would have thought of him had she known him then. No doubt she would probably have hated him.

"In a way," Minerva pressed on, "Draco reminds me of Severus. Severus was not spoiled by any means, but Draco had that same resentment towards Harry for so many years that Severus had towards James. Severus learned early on that he wasn't going to beat James and Sirius, so he took to following them around, trying to catch them breaking the rules to get them into trouble, and he succeeded on countless occasions. I can't tell you how many times I had those two in detention and of course they didn't appreciate that at all. In the end Sirius got sick of it and decided to take a terrible revenge, something that would change everything."

"He sent Severus into the Shrieking Shack, just before Remus Lupin changed into a werewolf."

"You know about that?"

"Harry told me. Harry said that his father stopped Severus, saved him."

"Yes, he did, but there was far more to it than that. I don't believe that Sirius honestly thought Remus would actually hurt Severus, and in truth neither did James. They were so convinced that Remus could connect with some human part of himself that he wouldn't hurt anyone. What they hadn't considered was that they were always in their Animagus forms when they were with the werewolf Lupin, and they had no clear idea what would actually happen if Remus were confronted with a person; someone of flesh and blood, that a werewolf would instinctively eat. James didn't make the decision to rescue Severus, it was Lily who made him. How she'd learned about what was going on, I don't know. Maybe she'd overheard Sirius and James talking about it… At the time she didn't get along with James at all, she thought it was an arrogant prat, but she went to him anyway and begged him to step in. She made a bargain with him. I think she agreed to go out with James if he went and saved Severus. Lily was an incredibly caring person and for some reason; no one ever knew why, she had a soft spot for Severus. They got off on the wrong foot, because he called her a Mudblood and she thought he was a horrible little snot, but after a while they seemed to grow on each other.

The problem came when he fell in love with her and she fell in love with James. Lily and James got married and Severus hated them both for it. Then she had Harry and he hated Harry for being their son. But of course he didn't stop loving her, he just set himself on a course to forget about it. He did what he was expected to do and he became a Death Eater, it was probably the only moment his father ever felt proud of him, and I suppose that was the last we thought we'd see of him, until there was some kind of battle or he was put in Azkaban. Either way, I have to admit that I didn't give it a second thought.

Then Voldemort heard about the Prophecy and decided that Harry had to die, and if Harry had to die then his parents had to die by necessity. The idea that Lily would die was enough to bring Severus back. He didn't give a flying fuck about James or Harry, but he couldn't let Lily die. He wanted to protect her, and of course the first thing that happened was that he and James fought like cat and dog over the best way to do that. James was determined to stay in Europe and Severus thought they should go further afield, then Severus wanted to be their Secret Keeper, but James didn't trust him and wanted Sirius to be the Secret Keeper instead. They were like children the way they squabbled over every little detail. In the end James made Sirius Secret Keeper and then they thought they'd be very clever and swap Sirius for Peter without telling anyone, and of course we all know what came of that."

"So perhaps Severus was right."

"Yes, well, it's all well and good to look at it in hindsight but it's a little late to sit back and say, "I wish we'd done it differently". She sighed and continued, "Severus learned too late that Voldemort had found them, and by the time he got there James and Lily were dead and Harry was screaming in the rubble. He took Harry to a safe house and waited for Hagrid. Then after the trials Albus brought him here. They both knew that Voldemort wasn't dead and they both knew that Harry would come to Hogwarts eventually. The plan was to make sure that Harry was prepared for the inevitable."

"But he hated Harry, you said so yourself."

Minerva was nodding, "He hated Harry, yes, but he wasn't going to let Lily's son die. He'd see Harry's face and see James, but on the few occasions that he'd look at Harry's eyes, he'd see Lily and I guess as much as it irked him, it made a difference. He couldn't protect Lily, so he protected her son. And quite aside from that, he felt he owed Albus – and in truth I think he did too. Albus vouched for him at the trials and kept him out of Azkaban, Albus kept him safe and employed for all these years…"

"But when Voldemort came back Severus didn't even hesitate. He wasn't hiding here, he was waiting!"

Minerva patted Hermione's hand again and laughed lightly, "I wasn't suggesting that he was hiding dear."

Hermione shifted in her chair, pulling her hand away with a disgruntled snort. "You make him sound pathetic; I know what it's like to be that person, to be the one that everyone picks on and what it's like to love someone who ignores you. Severus worked hard during the war, we hated him but we had to admit he did his bit, and you can't just belittle him…"

"I'm not belittling him Hermione. You had the luxury of hating him during the war, but I'm his friend. I lived every day in terror that he wouldn't come back from some mission or another. Lucius Malfoy was no idiot. He was perceptive, manipulative and cunning, and all it would take was one slip and Lucius wouldn't have hesitated in killing him."

"Lucius was his friend."

"Yes, and Severus betrayed him. Lucius was far more ruthless than Severus ever was. Severus could have been the love of Lucius' life and he still would have killed him without thinking twice."

Hermione thought back to the journal that she had found in Severus' room, Lucius Malfoy's journal. She remembered feeling that something was going on, and that Severus had something to hide when it came to Lucius. Even now, after everything that happened, Severus was protecting Lucius Malfoy in some way. "Good grief, he's pathetic."

Minerva burst into laughter and Hermione shrank back, horrified that she had spoken out loud.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Nonsense, of course you should have, because Severus can be very pathetic," Minerva continued to chuckle. "Oh I'll have to tell him that…he'll be so indignant."

"No!" Hermione panicked, "don't tell him I said anything, he'll hate me!"

"Don't be so silly. Once he gets over it he'll probably think it's funny."

Hermione frowned, "I really don't think he'll think that me calling him pathetic is funny."

"Hermione, he's hurt you and you still think of him as your Potions Master to an extent. He is human, he does laugh…"

"I know that."

"He can also laugh at himself, believe it or not."

Hermione sighed deeply and suddenly felt defeated. There was so much about him that she didn't really know, and it was true; despite that fact that she had made love to him, and that she had seen more of him than most, deep down she still thought of him as her Potions Master. She loved the man but she still feared him as the arrogant, gloating Slytherin teacher. But now he could hurt her in ways he couldn't before, because she had given him her heart and he could break and mend it at will. The utter bastard!

"Do you love him?" Minerva asked, her humor suddenly gone.

"Yes," Hermione didn't hesitate, despite everything she knew that she did.

"Are you sure? It isn't just infatuation?"

"This is Severus Snape we're talking about," Hermione replied wryly and Minerva was chuckling again.

"Well yes, I see the point." Minerva couldn't stop smiling at that. Anyone infatuated with Severus Snape probably required medication, and then she felt thoroughly ashamed of thinking something so very awful. "If you love him, you need to convince him to come back; it's as simple as that."

Hermione looked genuinely incredulous now, "Simple? You think it's going to be simple?"

"Absolutely. Severus loves you, we both know that, and he can't stand someone who is persistent. You just keep at him and he'll capitulate, simple."

"I can't believe that. I argued with him about this, and he was adamant that he's not coming back!"

"You didn't argue long enough, and I have no doubt that all seemed lost and I don't blame you for giving up, but had you known him a little better you would have known to just keep going and watched as he gave in. How do you think Albus and I convinced him to let Harry into Advanced Potions?"

"He wasn't going to let Harry in?"

"You know Harry's abilities in Potions; do you really think he got in because he got such brilliant grades?"

Well that was certainly true; Hermione had often wondered how Harry had managed to scrape in.

"The thing is, you have one major advantage over Harry getting into Potions. Severus actually wants to be with you. He wants to give in, and you just need to get past his 'I'm not worthy' problem…and besides, Severus is hopeless with people he loves."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and tried desperately to ignore the ball of jealousy roaming around in her belly. She wished that she was older, and that she'd spent the time with him that Minerva had spent. She wished she knew him that well. "So what do you think I should do?"

"Go and do your hair properly, put on something pretty and go and see him. Don't avoid him. You should go out of your way to see him, remind him that you are here. He likes you, and that is rare because he doesn't like many people. He is not going to snap at you or send you away. Even if you argue every time you see him, he won't hate you, in fact," Minerva smiled mischievously, "I think it will make him love you even more…and of course I will help as much as I can, I can nag like you would never believe."

*********

Snape awoke from an uncomfortable sleep and a dream that he had found troubling but would never remember. He couldn't really believe that he had managed to get any sleep at all considering where he had slept. He'd always loved that wingback chair, but hard upright leather was not something he had ever really considered a bed and he was fond of his bed, although he decided he might just get rid of it in favor of something new, perhaps a bed that did not have any memories in it. Not that he was sentimental in any way…well at least he never used to be. He was usually so incredibly adept at crushing any emotion down so deep that he didn't feel at all. Now he was stuck with some adolescent feeling of love for a girl he was wholly unsuited for and there was a mad woman asleep in his bed.

He stretched his long legs and winced as his back twinged painfully. He should have slept on the day bed. Why hadn't he slept on the day bed? The answers came to him almost immediately, he had thought that perhaps Draco would come back and he'd need somewhere to sleep, or, even more likely, if he was on the day bed there would be room for the wretch currently occupying his bed to crawl alongside him and the very idea of her touching him made him shudder.

He hated her with a hatred that was unreasonable and yet so familiar to him that it was like breathing. He had never really needed an excuse to hate. He glanced over at the bed and what he could see was at the same time beautiful and obscene. She had a way of turning her head as she slept so that she was in perfect profile, there were no scars and she looked like a sleeping princess. She was also naked and splayed across the covers. He was amazed that she wasn't cold.

It crossed his mind that she may be dead and he waited until he could discern the rise and fall of her breasts and then he turned away.

She shouldn't have been in his bed, filthy thing that she was. He should just burn it now that she had contaminated it. If anyone should be in his bed it should be Hermione and he should be in there too, warm beside her. He was not supposed to be sleeping awkwardly and uncomfortably in a hard leather chair.

And Draco was not supposed to remind Snape so much of Lucius that he became confused about just who he had been with. Draco had always had the fledgling ability for nastiness, and he had presented the persona of evil convincingly for years. An arrogant little shit who was like his father in so many ways, but he was not vicious in the same way Lucius was. Snape had no doubt that Draco wanted to be that vicious, but he wasn't. Draco was, as Snape had learned early on, a classic case of all words and no action. He was only good if he had support. Alone he would sooner save his own arse than stand and fight. Lucius was the complete opposite. Lucius loved to fight, Lucius loved to torture people, and Lucius would risk everything because he was so convinced of his own invincibility.

For one brief moment last night it was as though Lucius had inhabited his son's body. It was as if Draco had ceased to exist.

But it had been Draco; deranged as he had been, it was Draco. It was as though the viciousness had always been there, bubbling just beneath the surface, like a defect in his bloodline. They had always been that way. The Malfoy's with their faces like angels and their predisposition to do terrible things.

Potter, of course, would not stand for it. Snape wondered if Draco would be fool enough to tell him. He seriously doubted it. Draco was in a bind either way. If Potter found out about it he'd accuse Draco of treachery and leave him, if Draco told him, he'd leave any way. At one time such a prospect would not have concerned him, as the faster Draco got over this ridiculous infatuation the better. But something tweaked, and Snape could only imagine that he was getting soft and emotional in his old age, caused him to look a little deeper. Draco was in love with Potter and Snape wanted Draco to be happy. It was almost a fatherly wish and made Snape cringe with the sappiness of it.

He stretched again and paced across the room, closer to Regina, wondering what to do with her. She was sleeping peacefully, seemingly unaware of the trouble that she had caused or would cause. Or perhaps that smile on her lips betrayed that she did know and that she was fully aware of what she could do. Still more bones clicked into place and he pushed his fists into the small of his back and massaged his aching muscles. He was too old, he decided, for all this shit. The war was over, and he was supposed to get some rest now, teach, fade quietly into old age, and then retire to the Fenn to die. He was not supposed to be mourning the loss of a girl half his age, worrying over the moral decline of his Godson nor contemplating a naked mad woman in his bed. He was certainly not supposed to be concerned about the fate of Malfoy Senior.

He was seriously missing the wonderful feeling of loneliness that had plagued him for most of his life.

Finally he went directly to the bed. Regina was splayed across it and now that he had a good view he could see just how obscene it was. She had no inhibitions, he body being perhaps the only thing that she could use to get what she wanted and he had to admit, it was an incredible body. She appeared soft and yet toned at the same time, pale as porcelain, but he could imagine that in the summer months she would tan. He felt a pity for her face, the same kind of pity that he felt when he saw a mistreated dog; it was almost detached, as though she was somehow less than human. But Lucius had caused this damage and he had probably caused it because she was a Muggle who could do nothing at all to stop him. Lucius had always liked that feeling. Lucius had always loved to torture defenseless Muggles.

Snape wondered if she would be so very mad if Lucius hadn't come along. It was possible that she would be. From what Snape had read in Lucius' journal, she had been in a mad house long before he came along. But there was Muggle madness and there was Lucius Malfoy, and the two were very different things.

He wrenched the blankets out from under her, hoping on one hand to disturb her so that she would wake and perhaps put on some clothes, yet on the other hand he was terrified that if she did wake up she would resume her ranting, and so if she stayed asleep he could dump the blankets on top of her and cover her nakedness – and then he could studiously avoid looking in her direction.

She didn't wake, instead she rolled with the blankets and spread herself out over the clean sheets. Snape stood at the side of the bed holding the bundle of sheets and blankets and idly surveyed her. He had to admit, she had a beautiful body, and it was somewhat distracting to have it spread out before him like an offering. Still, he'd rather drink his own urine than fuck her. But yes, her nakedness was truly stunning.

He shook his head in disgust at the weakness of his own body and unceremoniously dumped the blankets on her, moving to hastily cover her entirely and get that body out of his sight.

Severus hadn't counted on his door being accessible and he certainly hadn't heard the door to his private chambers being opened. The harsh intake of breath from the stone archway of the door changed that, and it brought everything crashing down on him. He knew exactly who it was before he turned, he knew her presence well enough, and he felt the tug on his own aura that seemed to want to draw him to her.

He also knew he was in deep shit.

He straightened and steeled himself for the inevitable, fixed his face and hoped he didn't look too rumpled, because Merlin knew he looked guilty as all hell. He turned stiffly and didn't look directly at her. He didn't want to see the look on her face. Then quietly and purposely, as though reading it from a script he said her name with forced questioning; "Hermione."

**********

The light of dawn had only just managed to penetrate the dense cloud of smog that rendered London's sky a permanent grey. The light wound its way around the buildings, faintly seeking to pass through the grime covered windows of commission flats, and the multitude of tiny residences stacked impossibly close to one another. Onward then through the haze of the city, it eventually found the narrow windows of St Mungo's, overshadowed by the wing that housed their hopeless suicidal children for whom the world had become too much of a burden to bear.

Pansy Parkinson sat quietly on her bed that sat under one of these windows and peered out over the dirty rooftops and grimy chimneystacks. Her dark hair had once been glossy and part of her wished that it was the fact that she had just woken up that had caused it to be in its current messy state, but the truth was that she simply hadn't bothered to brush her hair since Draco's last visit and she probably wouldn't bother until he came again. It was so cold in the ward that she could see her breath and she traced a pale finger over the glass, making aimless patterns in the morning frost. Across the Highroad she could see Muggles in their flat's making breakfast or stumbling about in a state of semi sleep and below them, proprietors readying their stores for the day's business. A bakery on the corner that looked slightly grubby, an Off License and a dry cleaner, a little way up the Halal Butcher was arguing with the man who ran the African Hairdressers and across the road the Marks and Spencer's looked incongruously clean and shiny between the ₤2 Bargain Store and a boarded up shop in front of which a man usually sold cheap dresses in violent colors. On the street a few Muggles were huddled over in their coats, hurrying towards the station and others were leaving, looking haggard and overly made up after a long night of clubbing.

Sunday morning in London, and Pansy knew it well. She had stared out at this view on more Sunday mornings than she cared to remember, the whole wing seemed to look out over the High Street, and although she had no inkling of the difference between a Halal Butcher and a regular Butcher, the signs over the stores seemed to proudly declare their services and she figured that Muggles thought them very important. The Muggles couldn't see her, and even if they looked directly at her window no one would even notice her. St Mungo's kept its façade well. It was just another disused store, its smog tinted windows revealing nothing of the enclosed residents.

Pansy hated London. She longed for the open air of the countryside where the smog didn't inhibit the sunlight and the glow of lights didn't render the night sky orange. She could not understand why anyone would choose to live in such a place and as much as she hated to admit it, she missed places like Hogwarts that were removed from the Muggle world and the only dirt came from some wonderful organic source.

She doubted that she would ever see the school again. In fact she doubted if she would ever see the countryside again. The closed ward was fast becoming a home she never wanted and she knew that she would probably spend the remainder of her life there. It was not a prospect that she relished, but like most who resided in the cramped little rooms, she had no choice and despite the fact that she had more freedom than some, she was considered a danger to herself and as long as her uncle was unable to look after her, here she would remain.

But it was not these thoughts that had roused her from sleep so early on a Sunday morning. She was sitting at the window listening intently to the faint sound of crying that was coming from somewhere within the wing. It was a quiet sobbing that only she could hear, well, if anyone else could hear it they were not rushing to his aid. She knew it was a he, and she knew exactly who it was. The sound had dragged her from her potion-induced sleep before and she had listened then too. Her first instincts were to go and find him and then calm him down, but so many people from the past always surrounded him. Pansy had no doubt that they surrounded him now.

But if that were the case, why did they let him cry like that?

There would be no harm in looking, and she could go quietly down the hall and peek around the doorway to his room. She had done that many times and had only been noticed once and even then they hadn't come after her when she had run away. Of course, Draco had brought Harry to see her and he'd said nothing about it. He had scared her…he still scared her. Harry Potter, sitting there in her little room, staring at her as though he could see into her. And they were lovers now, Draco and Harry. Pansy couldn't understand that. The very idea of anyone touching her in such a way made her cringe, but for it to a member of that Order, the idea was terrifying.

And yet the one crying down the hall was a member of that Order and she felt instinctively drawn to him.

Silently she lowered her pale legs from her bed and slipped her small feet into a pair of threadbare slippers on the floor. Beside her bed, in pride of place, was a new pink dressing gown, a gift from Draco who had looked at her slippers with some dismay and promised her new ones on his next visit. She didn't understand why he felt guilty about her being here, but since Christmas she had been moved to this private room, and she knew her own family could not afford it, so it was Malfoy money keeping her now. She had felt the urge when she'd last seen him, to tell him not to bother, but it seemed to ease his conscience somehow and she could not deny that it was nice owning new things. At least the nurses didn't look at her with that same condescending pity any more.

Wrapped warmly in her dressing gown, Pansy trod a silent and familiar path down the corridor, seemingly unnoticed by anyone who cared to stop her. The sound of tears was faint but clear to her and she wondered again why no one sought to console him. His room was not far from hers; the private rooms were always close together, and Draco paid for Pansy's room, whilst his came by way of the Ministry. She'd kept herself abreast of the news that fluttered through the ward, and she knew his father would no doubt be Minister soon. A potential Minister couldn't be seen to have his son mingling on a public ward. A cynical part of her suggested that Fudge had probably authorized payment for the room; it would be something to hold up to the Ministry, how very good he was in the face of his opponent's family falling into disarray.

The room had been decorated and looked more like a home than a hospital. Pictures adorned the walls, whilst a knitted bedspread kept him warm on these frozen mornings. Pansy wondered what it would be like to still have a mother alive to fuss over her so much that her childhood room was transported to her hospital bed.

Of course, had her mother been alive she probably wouldn't be here. And it didn't really matter in the end, because his mother was here every day and he still cried in his sleep.

She rounded the doorway and paused, cautious lest someone be there with him. The room was empty except for him in his bed. Even his mother had stopped sleeping in the chair beside him, obviously thinking that he was well enough to get through the night alone. They had a big family Pansy seemed to recall, and perhaps his mother needed to look after them too.

His sleep, like her own was potion-induced. Standard practice on this wing. She had wished over and over that they would use a Dreamless Sleep brew, but they said it was addictive. Not that it mattered; they would get it every night anyway.

She silently approached the bed, hoping that he was still well enough asleep not to wake and catch her there. She wasn't entirely sure of what she was going to do. How did she calm him? What good would she do? At school they had never liked each other. He had called her foul names; he had called her a cow, _'that complete cow',_ and there was another one, _'Pug Faced Parkinson'._ She in turn had belittled him for his poverty, his red hair, his enormous mother and anything else that Draco could think to throw at him. They had used whatever weapons lay at hand to belittle and torment each other.

But the world had changed, and Pansy Parkinson had changed. The war had ravaged her until her body had become frail and narrow. Her parents had died and she had inherited nothing, left to the good will of relatives who could barely keep her. She had become sullen, her pale face almost grey and gaunt, her eyes haunted by things she had seen and experienced. Before he had come here she would wake as each day repetitively dawned and she would exist until the end of it. After he came she had something to break up the days. The occasional trip down the corridor to spy on him and wonder what had happened that he had ended up here.

Draco knew, but wouldn't tell her. Once upon a time she would have hated him for that.

His face looked wet with sweat and tears. What haunted his dreams? Occasionally he would murmur a word, tell some one to run, although who it was and if they did she would never know. Tentatively she reached down and stroked pale fingers over his wet cheek as his breath caught, then he exhaled, long and deep and his body seemed to unknot itself and calm a little.

She smiled at this little success and stroked his cheek with a little more firmness. He frowned and whispered for who ever it was to run again.

"Shhh, Ron, it's only a dream."

And once again he exhaled and calmed.

She wondered if his dreams and fears were grounded in such solid reality that they were indistinguishable from conscious thought. Her own dreams were exactly like that. She would wake most mornings, freshly traumatized, having relived the most hideous events of her life during the night.

Ron turned his head, the sleeping draught holding him tightly in its spell, and his cheek nuzzled into her palm. She almost drew back, only at the last moment did she stop herself and stroke his hair back from his forehead with her other hand.

They bound his hands to the sides of the bed. He scratched at his arms in the night; she could see the marks there, scratching at the long wounds that marred his arms from his inner wrist to elbows. They had obviously bound him to stop him scratching, but she could not help thinking that it must be uncomfortable, stuck on his back, unable to curl on his side or indeed move from his back at all.

She traced one of the long wounds, nasty and thick. The evidence of just how he had found his way here. She could never have taken such an option. It must have hurt him; perhaps he had wanted to feel it. Pansy had endured pain enough; she had wanted her own death to be as painless as possible. It was all for nothing, and they had both tried and had both failed. Pansy had tried twice more since coming here, and twice more she had failed. Ron had his family anxiously around him all day, so there would be no more attempts at dying for Ron Weasley.

"You're lucky, Ron, you have so much." And yet he still cried at night. He mumbled an unintelligible reply and nuzzled his cheek deeper into her palm.

"Who are you?! What are you doing here?!"

Pansy jumped and spun on her heel just as Molly Weasley seemed to swoop down on her. Her eyes widened as the older woman's strong hands dug into her shoulders and she was physically pulled away from the bed.

"Who are you?" Mrs. Weasley was sounding more hysterical now and she shook Pansy hard, "What are you doing touching my son? How dare you touch my son!"

"He…he was…he was…" Pansy flushed and she tried to swallow back the panic in her throat. A sob welled painfully in her and the woman dragged her from the room and into the corridor, tearing the sleeve of her new pink robe, and screaming for someone to come and help with this intruder.

Molly Weasley's shouts were rewarded when two nurses came running down the corridor towards them, both looking utterly panicked.

"This girl! This girl was in my son's room! Who is she? What is she doing wandering around the hospital at this time of morning? Don't you keep the doors locked on some of these people? What if she'd tried to hurt him?" Mrs. Weasley kept going, a catalogue of angry and anxious questions and with each one she gave Pansy a hard shake, rattling her bones as though she was little more than a rag doll.

"Mrs. Weasley," one of the nurses was saying, falsely calm as she attempted to extract Pansy from the older woman's grip. "She is harmless, she's just a little girl. Pansy is a patient here, and she might have known Ron from school. I'm quite sure she didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Molly did not appear convinced by this, but she released Pansy from her hands and the nurse pulled the girl forward to safety, dismayed to feel just how hard Pansy was shaking. Still, she also knew that she would have to deal with it here and now, if only to convince Molly Weasley that something was being done.

"Pansy, what were you doing in Mr. Weasley's room?"

"He…he…he…" Pansy's eyes shone bright with tears of her own, whilst her stomach ached, and her whole body was quaking under the scrutiny of the three women around her.

"Answer me Pansy, what were you doing? You know better than to wander the corridors at this time of the morning."

"He…he was…c-c-crying…" And now so was Pansy, her voice coming out in rasping sobs.

"Well if you hear someone crying you should get a member of staff, you don't go wandering off!"

The nurse sounded severe, more severe than she wanted to and Pansy seemed to crumple in on herself, hugging herself self-consciously, as one of her pale hands lifted the torn fabric of her robe so that the sleeve was held in place.

"I'll take her back to her room Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure that she didn't mean any harm." The nurse wheeled Pansy away, supporting the girl as she walked her back to her room, but somehow satisfied that she had seen the look on Molly Weasley's face go from one of belligerent anger to dismal shame.

**********

Hermione stood on the doorstep; door safely closed behind her and adjusted her eyes to the scene before her. She wondered if it would have made a difference if she had bothered knocking. She wondered if she should turn around and leave and then come back in all over again, because this had to be some dreadful trick, some quantum reality that she was not supposed to be a part of.

But then again, it looked pretty damned real to her and it took only an instant for her blood to rise up and feel as though it was boiling in her veins. She had fretted over this man, she had felt unworthy, and she had been up since the bloody crack of dawn being pep talked into fighting for him! And what was he doing? He was screwing some pale gorgeous woman who was now sleeping in his bed!

"Who the fuck is that?"

Severus blinked and Hermione didn't really blame him. She did not know that she could sound as angry as she did, but she didn't back down, she didn't feel the need to, and she felt absolutely righteous. He didn't answer her; instead he infuriated her by gaping at her like a fish.

"Well? Severus, who," Hermione pointed at the girl in the bed, "is that?"

"She…" Severus looked frantically from Hermione to the bed and back again, all poise gone, his black eyes horribly wide and his normally sallow skin so pale that he looked truly sick. He swallowed and tried to regain some composure, tried desperately to pull on the mantle of his Potions Master guise or at least look indignant that she had just burst into his room. None of it really worked and he just looked as though he was about to throw up. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Really? It looks as though you were leaning over a naked woman who is sleeping in your bed."

He gaped again, "well…well yes, it…it is that, but it looks worse than it is…I was just covering her up…she's just sleeping…she just slept here," he was looking around frantically again, "I slept there!" he pointed at the wingback beside the fire.

"I see." Hermione arched an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, "Why didn't you sleep on the day bed? It would have been more convincing if you'd have slept on the day bed."

Severus looked at the day bed as though it was an eyesore in the room, "but I…I slept in the chair." He looked back to the chair and knew he was sounding particularly lame. At that moment he didn't even believe himself.

"I have to hand it to you, Professor," Hermione said briskly, "you certainly don't waste any time."

"I didn't sleep with her!"

"Fair enough." Hermione shook her head and turned back to the door.

"Hermione, don't…I can explain this."

Hermione turned back, her pointed chin set in place. He would give anything at that moment for her to start chewing her lip, something to betray nervousness. He wanted her to be nervous. He liked it when she was nervous. When she was nervous he wanted to kiss her and reassure her and essentially be all-powerful over her. Except that she wasn't nervous, she was pissed off and he knew full well that when she was pissed off he wasn't going to win. He almost smiled affectionately at the fact she could best him so well.

Her lower lip tightened and tensed and she looked almost as though she would snarl. "You don't have to explain anything Severus," she said through clenched teeth, "you left me remember?"

"Of course I remember, Hermione, but it wasn't to do what you're thinking!"

"It doesn't matter now does it, Severus?"

But it did and he could hear it in the tightness of her voice. "Hermione…"

"Stop saying my name! I preferred it when you were my nasty piece of shit Potions Master who found fault in everything I did! I'd rather that than this lying insipid…"

"Fucking hell, Hermione!"

She glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and storming out the door.

"Hermione!" He knew he should just let her go, logic told him to let her go. What was he going to tell her? It was true that he could explain, but not without revealing everything about Lucius and indeed Draco, and whilst part of him thought that she would be able to deal with the situation with more clarity than Potter, he really didn't know that for certain.

But logic played no part in him at that moment and he went after her, not stopping to second-guess himself for possibly the first time in his life. He took off out the door, trying to catch her small frame before she rounded the corner into the corridor, but when he didn't get to her in time he plunged into the corridor and to his horror found himself in the middle of a sea of students heading to breakfast.

Hermione stopped and turned to face him, raising her eyebrow again, daring him to say something. He stood still and silent, forcing his face into a perfect look of disdain.

"Yes, Professor?"

She sounded smug, triumphant and he felt his own anger rise. Around him, students were skirting around him, most not looking at him, keeping their heads down and hopefully out of trouble. Some though, the older ones, saw that he wasn't focused on them at all and that the one in trouble was the eighth year ex-Gryffindor and they stared openly between the two, perhaps hoping to see the girl in trouble, or perhaps witness a display of their House Masters icy temper.

"Miss Granger, I believe you are supposed to be reporting for detention. I don't care how old you are, but whilst you are a student of this school I expect you to abide by its rules."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Miss Granger," he growled menacingly. He really didn't need her to drag this into the main body of the school.

"Miss Granger?"

They both turned and Severus snorted angrily. He didn't need Minerva on top of all of this. Minerva looked between them both and wondered why Hermione hadn't changed her clothes as had been suggested. And why they were standing in the middle of a corridor full of people glaring at each other, if looks could kill they would both be dead on the floor.

"Is there a problem?" Minerva asked needlessly.

Snape smiled almost imperceptibly and looked down his nose at both of them. "Nothing I can't handle, Professor McGonagall."

"Professor Snape thinks that now is a good time for me to serve detention, Professor McGonagall."

"I see," Minerva looked from Hermione to Severus questioningly, there was very obviously something wrong, "and were you scheduled to serve detention now, Miss Granger?"

"I was hoping that Professor Snape would see his way clear to give me a reprieve." Hermione's voice was growing tighter, if that was at all possible.

Minerva looked frustrated for a moment and realizing that they weren't going to get anywhere standing there she suggested the only thing she could think of. "This is ridiculous, and I'd suggest that perhaps we should take this somewhere a little more private."

"My office is not far," Snape said a touch too quickly.

"Oh but Professor," Hermione smiled sweetly, "your chambers are just down there, and so much closer don't you think?"

"I really don't think that is appropriate, do you Professor McGonagall?"

"On the contrary," Hermione continued, "I think Professor McGonagall would find it very enlightening."

Of course after that nothing was going to keep Minerva out of those chambers. Hermione pushed past Severus and headed back down the corridor towards his private chambers. Minerva exchanged an arched look with Snape, and she looked somewhat accusing, having already determined that he was at fault. Turning on her heel she followed Hermione down the hall.

Severus would have given anything at that moment to have been able to Apparate out of Hogwarts and go to some remote place and never come back. He wondered how populated Antarctica was at this time of year because he really didn't want to hear Minerva when she…  
 _  
_ _"SEVERUS!"_ _  
_  
Severus Snape winced, and to the amazement of the students left in the corridor he sighed deeply, hung his head and descended into the hallway back to his rooms.


	41. Mad World Part 3

_Chapter 17 Part 3_

*********

Harry woke early and wondered what was wrong with him and why he was seemingly unable to sleep in any more. He could remember that Draco had once quipped that waking him was like trying to wake the dead. Not so now. It was Sunday morning, it was still dark and Harry was wide awake.

He sat up, contemplated his morning erection and considered jerking off. There was also the other body in the bed to consider. He wondered if Draco would mind if he just rubbed himself against his arse for a little bit and decided that he probably would. He was also hungry and his stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

Harry nudged Draco's bare shoulder and Draco squirmed away, so Harry reached a little further and nudged again. "Are you awake?"

"No."

"Yes you are."

Draco mumbled something that sounded remarkably like, "fuck off Potter" but which Harry decided must not be right, and hugged his pillows a little tighter.

Harry stared at the back of the messy blonde head for a moment before nudging his shoulder again. "We should go down and get some breakfast, before it's over." Now that was lame, and he should have just asked if he could rub himself against Draco's arse. It would probably have met with a better reaction.

Draco rolled onto his back. "What is the fucking time?"

Harry reached for his watch and his glasses and squinted in the darkness, "twenty past seven."

"And it's Sunday?"

"Yeah."

"Then go back to fucking sleep you sick prick!"

"But…" Harry looked at him helplessly, "what about breakfast?"

Draco rolled his eyes up to eye the head board and made a strange impatient whining noise in his throat. "Why don't you go and have some breakfast and you can bring me something back, in say…about four hours?"

Harry grunted, a little disconcerted while Draco rolled onto his side and once again began snuggling down into the pillows. Harry leaned over and lit the gaslight beside the bed, part of him hoping that the light would annoy Draco into waking and most of him knowing that it wouldn't. Draco was doing a brilliant job of ignoring him completely and judging from his breathing, was safely returning to his sleep.

"If you come to breakfast I'll suck your cock." Harry did his best wheedling voice, knowing it was a long shot.

Draco's eyes opened and he seemed to still in the pillows, as though considering the offer. Even without resorting to Legilimency Harry could see the thought process. Having his cock sucked would certainly be nice and a great way to start his Sunday, on the other hand the bed was warm and he was tired and wanted to sleep in. In the end sleep won out and he sneered before saying; "big deal, I can get you to suck my cock anytime."

Harry's eyes opened wide and a definite coldness swept over the bed, as though Harry had just opened the balcony door and let the winter in. Draco swore softly and screwed up his eyes, knowing full well he was about to wake up and stay awake for the rest of the day. "I didn't mean that." When Harry didn't answer he rolled onto his back again and looked up at the green eyes glaring down at him. "You know I didn't mean it."

"Arsehole," Harry muttered, his mouth in a twisted semi pout.

Draco grinned, ignoring the look, "I know, I am, I really am." He rolled towards Harry, trailing a lazy finger up Harry's naked belly and placing a kiss on one sharp hip bone, "but you love me anyway, right?"

Harry made a non committal noise and Draco kissed his hip again. Last night seemed an eon ago and the smell of Harry's bare flesh was almost intoxicating enough to make him forget. Almost, but not quite. Guilt seemed to grab his intestines and give them a squeeze.

Betrayal. The word summed up so many different acts and Draco had not considered that he would feel so bad about what he had done. In some way he felt relieved that he wasn't so like his father after all. He rested his cheek against Harry's belly and stroked Harry's hip. Last night he had begged Harry not to leave him and last night he had told Harry more than he'd ever told him. He wished he'd been able to tell him more, tell him everything. But at the end of the day, Harry was more than just his lover, Harry was Harry Potter and there was no way that Harry Potter was going to help Draco Malfoy free his father.

He shifted his cheek a little, loving the feel of Harry's hot flesh beneath it. Harry's cock was hard and outlined beneath the sheets, he could see the way the blankets fell over Harry's thighs and he knew that if he looked up he would be able to run his eyes over every inch of Harry's naked torso. Harry was his, all his, and no one else's.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, his bad mood having faded under the tenderness of Draco's touch.

"I'm thinking about how much I love you."

Harry laughed softly, "You're getting sappy in your old age, Malfoy."

Draco smiled and lifted his head. "Maybe I am. Do you like it?"

"What? You being sappy?"

Draco began to laugh, "Sappy…nah, I don't think I like that! I think I'll just start calling you Potty all the time and I'll hex your arse every time I see you."

"Not so different to now then?"

"You love it when I hex your arse."

"Well, I love it when you do something to my arse," Harry grinned.

"You're a horny bastard, you know that?"

Harry was nodding, "yep, I can't deny it."

Draco sat up, resting his back beside Harry and Harry was forced to look up at him. For possibly the first time Draco considered the fact that the love of his life had turned out to be a man. He had never been adverse to the idea, and it had in fact excited him. But he'd never expected to fall in love with a man. Draco had always liked his women soft, with creamy flesh, rounded hips and full breasts. Harry was slender and hard and angular, and yet Draco did not miss sex with women. He'd never considered that possible.

"Answer me something," Draco asked, suddenly serious.

"What?" Harry replied, snuggling down against Draco, resting his head into the hollow between Draco's chest and shoulder.

"Have you ever been attracted to a woman."

Harry frowned. Draco felt his face move and he could hear hesitation in Harry's voice when he answered. "Yeah," Harry said reluctantly, "Crushes…sort of."

"Cho Chang?"

Harry blushed, "yeah, her."

"Too thin," Draco said cattily, " and no tits."

"She's really pretty though," Harry said defensively.

"So why didn't you fuck her?"

"I was only fifteen!"

"Ok," Draco was smiling now, "What about Ginny Weasley?"

"I kind of fucked up there."

"Mmm, well, I'm glad you did."

"You made love to her though," Harry sounded a little sullen at that.

"It wasn't love baby. It was just sex."

"I think I ruined her life."

"No, she likes to blame you for it, but she made her own choices."

Harry shrugged, "I shouldn't have tried to be with her, I knew it wasn't right." He paused, toyed with one of Draco's pink nipples, "I knew I wanted you."

"You did?" Draco couldn't quite believe that.

"You fell off your broom playing Quidditch, you were lying on the ground and your clothes were all runched up and down and I could just see this beautiful stomach and I just wanted you. That's when I knew that I had no business being with Ginny."

"Ahh, the glorious Malfoy body working its charms on the famous Harry Potter." Draco was laughing, but there was a certain bitterness to it, and he knew full well that his body was nothing like it used to be. And what if Harry had stayed with Ginny Weasley? Or even if he had been with her. The idea of Harry naked with anyone else caused his stomach to ache, the suggestion that Harry could have lain with anyone else and the jealousy surged through Draco. He stroked Harry's hair and kissed the top of Harry's head, "I couldn't stand it," he murmured, not sure that he was saying it out loud, "I couldn't stand it if you'd been with her."

Harry looked up, green eyes glowing, "But you had lovers; lots of them, before I came along."

"I know." Draco fell silent for a moment, looking down into those eyes, wanting to take the glasses off but wanting Harry to see him properly. "I wish I had something more pure to give you."

"I don't need anything more than you." Harry frowned, "do you miss girls? Are you ever tempted."

"No, never," Draco sighed. "I'd never do that to you." And then Draco smiled, "I think we've missed breakfast."

Harry grinned, "Well, it looks like we'll be getting some sleep."

Draco was instantly moving; sliding down between the sheets, and to Harry's amazement was resuming the same position he had been sleeping in for most of the night. He certainly didn't need to be told twice, as Draco's eyes were already closed. Harry found himself in the same position he'd started in, sitting quietly beside Draco and wishing he were awake.

Harry nudged Draco's bare shoulder and chuckled at the annoyed "What?" that ensued.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I rub my cock against your arse?"

Draco's eyes opened again and he sighed begrudgingly, "Yes, if you have to."

Harry snuggled down behind him; he decided he really had to.

*********

Severus Snape edged into his own chambers and with the look of a man heading to the guillotine. He knew full well what to expect, and he knew that between them, Minerva and Hermione could possibly reduce him to a quivering mess. As he hadn't been reduced to a quivering mess since he was a child, he wasn't relishing the prospect of a return journey.

Minerva's lips were so thinned and bloodless that her mouth looked like a thin white scar on her face. She looked utterly disgusted, more so than he had ever seen her, and considering that she'd stood in the presence of the Dark Lord that was saying something.

"Who is this…" Minerva glared disgusted at the bed, "woman!"

Snape was fairly certain that Regina was wide awake by now, and that Minerva's shriek had probably woken half the castle. He really didn't know what would be better, having Regina awake, or remaining as she was.

"SEVERUS!"

He jumped and blinked as Minerva moved closer to him. As though she was going to hit him…hell, she probably was. "Who is she Severus?"

"She's a friend…of Lucius'."

"Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? What the hell are you doing with some whore of Lucius Malfoy's?"

Snape frowned, and it was obvious what they were thinking. "She…" how did he explain this? He considered that it might be somehow better just to agree with what they were they accusing him of. Perhaps say he was desperate, distraught, in need of something. Then they would leave him alone, Minerva would probably never speak to him again, but at least Hermione would realize that it was over and she would get on with having the life she was supposed to have, instead of tying herself emotionally to him – when she could really do so much better.

Except of course that he didn't want Hermione to think ill of him and as pathetic as he felt about it, losing Minerva would probably send him over the edge entirely. But he could hardly blurt everything out like a naughty boy confessing his sins.

"How did you get her into the castle?" Minerva continued, not registering that he'd said a word, that she was coming closer still and he was steeling himself for the inevitable slap. "What did you think you were doing? A week ago you were moaning about your love for Hermione and now you've brought some filthy whore into the castle! What kind of example are you setting, you stupid fucking twit?"

"She is not a whore," he said calmly. His voice was low, barely above a whisper and very much the one he used in class. He was not going to allow himself to be backed further into any corners. "I did not sleep with her."

"I'm not suggesting that you slept with her!" Minerva spat, "I'm sure you were far too busy to do any sleeping!"

"I didn't do _anything_ with her, Minerva."

Oh, I see, she's naked in your bed for no apparent reason?"

"Just because she is naked does not mean that I had sex with her."

"Then why is she naked?" Minerva demanded and they all knew that the question was reasonable.

Hermione's triumph had faded quickly as the argument between the two teachers progressed, and she found herself silently praying that he was telling the truth and that somehow there was a reasonable explanation for all this…if only Severus would tell them what it was. She looked at him, willing him not to have been with this woman, who looked so incredibly beautiful even in sleep. More so than Hermione thought possible in herself.

Tears stung her eyes and she looked away, she didn't need to start crying, he hated women who cried.

Snape was saved from answering by Regina finally deciding to wake up and join in the conversation. Snape groaned audibly and Hermione took it as a sign of his guilt. She felt a tear escape and was horrified when he noticed. She turned away, not seeing him step towards her and stop when she turned.

Regina stretched languously, knocking blankets to the floor and reveling creamy flesh for all to see. Then she turned her face to the two women that she had never met and smiled her ironic smile.

Minerva took a step back, for the first time lost for words. She reached her hand up to her own face, feeling to make sure that it was still as it always was, and she stared at the woman sitting in the bed who appeared to be enjoying the moment immensely. Obviously she was not only used to the reaction her face caused, but she relished it.

"Have you brought new playmates for me?"

The woman's voice was sing song, like a little girl. Minerva blanched as she climbed from the bed and walked fully naked towards her.

"Leave them alone Regina, they aren't here for you."

Regina pouted and stamped a bare foot on the cold stone floor, "You're no fun!" she whined at Snape, "You want everything from me, you want me to answer all your questions and you never want to play with me!"

"Put some clothes on Regina."

"No!" She whirled in circles around the bed and Snape rolled his eyes, wondering if he could stun her without offending anyone.

"Oh dear God, she's mad." Minerva's eyes followed the girl as she stopped whirling and staggered slightly, dizzy from the effort. "Severus, she's insane!"

"I am aware of that, Minerva."

"You had sex with a mad woman!"

"Oh for fucks sake Minerva, I didn't fuck her!"

Hermione winced and edged a little closer to the bed, fascinated by just what had happened to the woman's face. It seemed as though the beauty of one side slowly melted into the other. It looked almost liquid. Could it have been a fire? Or was it something more sinister? Behind her she could hear Minerva and Severus bickering, Minerva leveling blame at Severus and Severus refusing to have a bar of it. They faded into the background in the face of this woman.

Regina stopped staggering about and gathered herself with remarkable speed. She looked at Hermione with the same curiosity that Hermione was showing in her and then slowly she smiled in an unfriendly way. "Who are you?" Regina demanded in a voice that had alarmingly lost its' sing song quality and now sounded heavy and full of gravel.

"I'm Hermione," Hermione replied evenly, not wanting to let her façade slip at all.

Regina scrutinized Hermione's features with a critical eye, "you're not very pretty are you?"

Hermione blinked and was momentarily lost for words. Snape raced forward, placing himself between the two and barked harshly for Regina to shut up. Regina reacted by snarling at him and throwing herself onto the bed.

"Where is the Little Dragon?" She screeched suddenly, "I want the Dragon back!"

"He's not here," Snape hissed, "and I would shut up now if I were you."

Regina's face brightened, "But you're not me!" she giggled mischievously, "and I want my Dragon back. I liked the Dragon, he was much more fun than you. He was just like his Daddy." She shivered with excitement, "so brutal! He got his wand out. You wouldn't get your wand out, _you_ wouldn't do anything fun at all."

Snape looked as though he would hit her and Hermione found herself wishing that he would. Instead he hissed for her to be quiet again, but she took no heed of his words. She wriggled to sit cross legged on the bed.

"I miss the Dragon."

"Does she mean Draco?" Hermione asked, as her voice seemed full of air.

"Don't listen to her, Hermione."

"Did Draco do something with her?"

"No, don't listen to her."

Regina looked between the two of them and giggled again. "Are you a virgin?"

Hermione and Snape stared at her, unsure of just who she was addressing. It was Snape who answered her with an irritated "What?"

"You won't play with me, so you must be a virgin."

"I won't play with you because you are foul and insane!" He shook his head, annoyed at the fact that she had goaded him into this particular game.

"Are you in love with _her?_ " Regina pointed at Hermione and laughed merrily, "Is that why you won't play with me?"

"Oh for Gods sake, someone stupefy her," Minerva said, exasperated by the sound of the woman's voice.

"I miss my Lucius," Regina was saying sadly, "he liked to play…"

She didn't get to continue in this vein, because Snape had taken Minerva's advice and within seconds Regina was had been stupefied and was lying face first into the bed.

"What is going on, Severus?" Minerva asked wearily, "why do you have this woman here?"

Well, at least she had stopped accusing him of sleeping with her.

"Why was Draco here?" Hermione asked, "Why did she want Draco? What did Draco do?"

Snape returned to the chair he'd spent the night in and sank his head into his hands. "Draco did not sleep with her," he said quietly, "this woman is a friend of his father's, and she needed a place to stay, that's all."

"And since when have you been Mr. Charity?" Minerva snapped out.

"Just leave it Minerva."

"I don't think so!"

"Stop it," Hermione whispered, "both of you, just stop it." She went to Snape and tentatively stroked his hair, just wanting to touch him, if only for a moment. Instinctively he leaned into her touch and pleasure infused her sore heart.

"Don't defend him, Hermione!"

"Please, Minerva, I can handle this…I'll find out what is going on."

Minerva pursed her lips and glared at Severus, she then turned back to Regina, still lying face down on the bed. "Get rid of her," she snapped, "by tonight or I will have you out of here so fast your head will spin."

Snape's mouth fell open, "What?"

"You heard me. Get rid of her." Minerva turned on her heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her so that it echoed through the chamber.

Snape closed his eyes and sank his head back down into his hands. Minerva wasn't going to speak to him again, he was fairly certain of that – although he couldn't quite believe that she had just threatened to have him fired. Hermione was stroking the back of his neck, and he wasn't sure if she even realized that she was doing it. It felt good just having her touch him, and he lifted his head to look up at her.

"I didn't have sex with her," he murmured.

"I know," she sounded resigned, "but Draco?"

"Draco didn't have sex with her either."

"But he did something."

Snape sighed and he could feel his face looking strained. "Draco is old enough to make his own decisions."

"Harry is my best friend, so if Draco is cheating on him…"

"Draco hasn't cheated on Potter." He jerked his body away from her touch, "I've told you that. For some fool reason Draco loves Potter, and so he is hardly going to screw that woman! I'd be amazed if Draco could actually get it up for the mad bitch!"

Hermione's lip trembled and she didn't know whether she should feel relief or to feel cowed by him. He was evidently angry, but he didn't get up, he didn't walk away from her and she remembered what Minerva had said to her earlier. He wouldn't send her away.

"Does she have anything to do with the spell in Mr. Malfoy's Diary?"

His expression changed, and he looked a little amazed. In truth he had forgotten that she had read part of the journal. "Yes, it has something to do with that," he said reluctantly.

"Can I help you with it? Is there anything I can do?"

His mind suddenly reeled and he was bemused by the fact that he was suddenly unconcerned with the idea of Draco or Lucius or Regina. There was plenty she could do, she could get on her knees and suck his cock for a start. A smile tugged at his mouth from the sheer inappropriateness of the thought.

"I can help you," Hermione said eagerly, "whatever the spell is…"

"No you can't, Hermione. It's best if you just stay out of it."

"But what does the spell do? What does this woman have to do with it?"

"Stop it, Hermione."

"What did Draco do with her; she kept talking about him like they were intimate?"

"He asked her questions, that's all."

"You're lying!"

He did stand up then, and pulled away from her. "Don't tell me that I'm lying, Hermione, I am not accountable to you. Perhaps you should consider that you don't need to know every little nuance of what goes on in this castle! If I'm not telling you something, perhaps you don't need to know it. This is not a classroom and you are not learning a lesson, you don't need to be an insufferable little know-it-all in this situation!"

Hermione's face infused with blood, "Perhaps," she choked out, "you should consider that I might be worried about you!"

He snorted impatiently. "Then don't! My mother died a very long time ago and I don't need another one."

"What, so last week I was too young and now I'm acting like your mother?"

Snape smiled bitterly, "my mother would have made Regina look sane."

"Severus…"

"Why are you here?" he asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Why did you come down here?"

"I…" She bit her lip and almost sent him over the edge. The reasoning that Minerva told her to go down was probably not the best and so she knew it was going to sound pathetic when she said, "I missed you, I wanted to see you."

"And now you've seen me, so perhaps you should go."

And so he would send her away after all, perhaps he didn't love her.

"I want to be with you Severus, don't…"

"Hermione stop. I can't do this right now. There is too much happening now to talk our way around in circles, you have to accept this, just go, get on with your life and leave me to do what I have to do."

"I can't accept it."

Snape snorted again and glared at her, "Hermione, just go. I have to wake Regina and I don't want to have to deal with you as well."

"Deal with me? That's how you see it?"

"Fuck Hermione, just go!"

Hermione's face began to crumple and she knew that there was no way that she was going to stop the tears. But she was angry too, and her mouth twisted as she tried to speak, "I don't know why I bothered to come down here!"

"Good, now go!"

"I hate you!" she shrieked.

He said nothing to that, just turned away and waited for the sounds of her going. They came, the sound of her rushed footsteps heading to the door and then the door opening and closing softly. He turned and she was gone. He took a deep breath, calmed himself and returned to his chair by the fire. After a time he fetched a bottle of Rotgut that Aberforth Dumbledore had given him for Christmas and poured himself a glass.

This would be forgotten in time. It was as it should be, and she was better off this way.

********

Non knew that he would be in trouble when he arrived at Hogwarts. Wizards, no matter how good, had little tolerance for House Elves, and he knew that Severus Snape was not the most tolerant of Wizards. He may have been against Voldemort, but he was not a nice person. Not that it bothered Non overly; he'd worked at Malfoy Manor since he was born, and he was more than used to abuse.

The quiet voice from the corner took him by surprise however. Lucius Malfoy was pompous and cruel when he punished his servants, but Severus Snape was something else entirely. His voice was barely above a whisper and when Non turned to look at him, he was sitting by the fire holding a glass of something that looked remarkably like whiskey and was unnaturally still and calm.

"And where have you been?"

Non hung his head a little, he should have come back on time and his fingers itched to hurt himself. "Master Severus," he tried to smile, and he wrung his hands in an effort to stop his fingers from reaching for something to hit himself with, "Non couldn't leave Master Lucius…there. Non is sorry, Master Severus."

"Well, I suppose I should commend you on being so dedicated to your task."

Non looked up hopefully, but there was no gentleness on his new Master's face. Snape was staring down at him, looking as though he would happily send the elf into oblivion. He felt a quick rush of fear, a small thrill of terror that was familiar to him, so like that which flowed through him when Master Lucius was at home and whole, that he almost found it nostalgic. A sound behind him alerted him to the fact that they were not alone in the room. His small head snapped around and he looked in horror at the woman beside the bed.

"Regina!" Non yelped before he could stop himself. So he had the mad woman here, no wonder Master Severus was in a bad mood. Regina Valmoral was enough to send anyone into a black rage. She looked as though she would come to him. She opened her mouth with unnatural slowness and just as she took a step, Snape reach out a lazy hand and murmured a curse, that caused her to freeze in her tracks, completely immobilized.

"I see you know our friend," Snape said, returning his attention to Non and fixing him with his unnerving stare.

"She is…she is Master Lucius'…"

"Whore?" Snape managed a smile that barely touched his lips.

"Master Lucius had different…" Non bowed his head and wondered if he had perhaps gone too far, "appetites," he finished lamely.

"Lucius had a beautiful wife and a total inability to keep his cock in his pants." It was a statement that both Non and Snape knew to be unfair, as Narcissa was not the most faithful of spouses either; they both had their foibles.

"What I don't understand," Snape whispered venomously, "is why he couldn't just accept it. Why couldn't he just accept that he lost and take the punishment? It appears that everyone is running around trying to decipher what he did, everyone's lives can be ruined, just so long as we all run to help Lucius."

It occurred to Non that Master Severus could very well be drunk, which seemed unlikely because it was very early in the morning and he had always seemed reasonably stable for as long as Non had known him.

Then again, Regina Vermoral would drive anyone to drink.

"Master Lucius," Non shook his head, "he was scared, and he didn't know…he couldn't predict what was going to happen."

"Yes he did, he knew exactly what was going to happen, that's why he set about trying to find a way out of it. As it is, we don't know what he managed or even if it was successful."

Non brightened somewhat, and he knew he could at least be of help with that particular detail. "It worked, Master Severus, it did work. Non saw for himself, Master Lucius is aware, and he fully understands what is happening now."

Snape sat forward and frowned at the small elf, so much so that Non began to fidget uncomfortably. "Perhaps you should tell me what happened at the Museum."

"Non did well Master Severus, Non was made a valet for the Curator, Sir, and the Curator is very important in the Museum."

"I'm aware of that. What did you learn about Lucius?"

"The Curator said that Non had to look after his Angel and at first Non was confused, but then Non saw the Curator's Angel and the Angel was Master Lucius!"

"His _Angel?_ "

"Yes Master Severus, he keeps Master Lucius in his rooms, and he sleeps with him. He talks to Master Lucius and Master Lucius talks back to him. Master Lucius talks to Non too…but not when the Curator is there."

"Lucius," Snape placed his drink down, "Lucius can speak?"

"Not with his mouth, Master Severus, his voice is in Non's head, but it is him, Sir."

"What does he say? Did you ask him what he did? Did you ask him about the counter to it?"

Non frowned and trembled a little, "Master Lucius asks about Master Draco mostly. He says that you have to make sure that Master Draco stays with Harry Potter."

Snape's lip curled, that did not sound like Lucius Malfoy.

"He says that Harry Potter will protect Master Draco, and he says that Master Draco is in danger."

Snape looked disconcerted then. He sat back and sent a troubled look to the fire. "Why is Draco in danger?"

"Master Lucius says that the Curator wants Master Draco to be like Master Lucius, he said they were something called a 'Matched Set'. Master Lucius made a deal with the Curator, but he says that he doesn't trust him. Non doesn't trust the Curator either, he says he loves Master Lucius, but he hurts him."

"How? How does he hurt him?"

Non looked reluctantly at his new Master and hoped that Severus Snape could be of some help. "He forces himself on Master Lucius. Master Lucius can't defend himself and he can't say no and the Curator is on him, he goes inside him and makes Master Lucius cry and he hits Master Lucius, hits and kicks him."

"Wait," Snape was sitting forward again, but it was urgent now. He grabbed Non and pulled him to him, "you said he goes inside him, what does that mean? Is the Curator raping Lucius?"

"The Curator says that Master Lucius is his lover." Non bowed his head, "Non has seen it Master Severus; the Curator has made Master Lucius sick."

Snape looked as though he too felt decidedly sick. He slumped in his chair, releasing Non and gulping down a glass of Fire Whiskey. So Lucius was trapped in his body, aware of everything going on around him and unable to defend himself. He'd finally managed to fuck himself. "Has he told you how to free him?"

Non shook his head sadly, "Master Lucius won't tell Non anything, Master Severus. He says that Master Draco is more important and he says that you must promise to keep Master Draco safe."

"He doesn't want us to help him?"

"No, Master Severus."

Snape felt unreasonable anger surge through him. They were risking everything for Lucius and Lucius wanted none of it. Snape's life was falling down around him because of Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius didn't want any help. And as for Lucius sacrificing all for his son, that trite sentiment seemed almost unbelievable.

"Master Lucius isn't himself," Non ventured timidly.

"What, he has developed concern for someone other than himself?" Again, the statement wasn't fair and Snape knew it. Lucius had always loved his son above all else, but once anger had rendered him unreasonable, Snape had to work his way through it, and it was going to take time.

"He is sick, Master Severus; he has dreams, about dying."

"I'm sure he'll get over it."

"He is _sad._ "

Snape almost snarled. Lucius wasn't the only one in pain. But could he simply leave Lucius there? Knowing that Lucius was aware, and that their worst fears for him had been realised, could he leave him in that place and do nothing at all? Snape had developed his own theory of how he would work things out when it came to freeing Lucius. Draco had some kind of romantic notion of simply whisking his father's body away and living in some kind of exile, though how he planned to reconcile that to his relationship with Potter was anyone's guess. Snape was older and, he liked to think it but was beginning to doubt it, wiser. Taking Lucius Malfoy from his prison was not going to be something that was taken lightly in the Wizarding world and the Aurors would never rest until they found him…and there was always going to be Potter to contend with.

Snape's idea was logical, if not as romantic as Draco's. He had full confidence that Arthur Weasley would be made Minister by the end of April; indeed there was little doubt in their world. Fudge had only held on to power throughout the war because of a need for stability, but now that the war was over very few Wizards had tolerance for the man. With Arthur Weasley also came a new kind of tolerance. Arthur Weasley was very much against the Kiss as a form of punishment for anyone, and he was also adamant that the Dementors would be removed from Azkaban permanently and be replaced by Aurors. Snape was certain that once the facts were fully understood and Lucius freed, Weasley would agree to a prison term. He knew that the next concern would be that Lucius would escape without the Dementors to hold him in check. Snape had a counter to that argument as well, but it was something that he had to consider further before ever suggesting it.

And now Lucius was sad, and it was possibly the first time he'd ever felt such an emotion. "Go back to the Museum," Snape murmured with little emotion at all, "and if he gets any sicker let me know. Tell him that I won't let Draco near the Museum, but that I have an idea on how to get him out. I need to know how to release him, so ask him to tell you."

"But Master Lucius wouldn't tell Non…"

"Then ask him again!"

"Yes Master Severus," Non silently hung his head.

Snape stared at him a while longer, wondering why the little being was so very attached to the man who had made his life a misery, and then he decided that contemplating the intricacies of a House Elf's mind was not entirely constructive. He looked away, to the bottle of Whiskey and wanted nothing more than to drown in it. "Well," he said with forceful irritation, "don't you think you should be going?"

And Non blushed, bowed and scraped before finally making his exit.

*********

Hermione found the climb up the stairs to the South West tower more laborious than usual. She had never really noticed the climb up Hogwarts many staircases, not physically at least, but today her legs ached and her head ached and she felt the inclination more than once to stop and sit and cry. Gods she hated him for making her feel like an inconsequential nuisance.

And he'd thrown her out, and Minerva had been so sure that he wouldn't. He didn't love her after all.

She didn't want to think about him any more, she just wished she could wipe her memory and take every part of him away. Perhaps Harry had been right, that it had been nothing at all, just a foolish inclination. She had always loved her books and learning and everything that these things had to offer, just as she had always loved the stone corridors of the school and the dark pokey corners of the library. Falling in love with a teacher seemed a natural progression. Perhaps she had chosen him through lack of options.

But who would ever have considered Severus Snape an option? By rights she should be cringing at the very idea of him. The hair, nose, skin and those teeth! Instead she had fallen head over heels in love with him. In love with Severus Snape, so what kind of a fool was she?

For the first time in years she longed for her mother's company. Her mother who had always been ready with hot chocolate and cake in any crisis, or perhaps something stogy and comforting from the oven. It had been so long since she had sat down and talked with her mother about anything of real importance. At the tender age of ten she had been removed from her parents' world as effectively as if they had died. She was different from them; a Witch, and as such her life was always going to be different from theirs. They accepted her, but they could never truly understand it. Talking about things like spells and charms and Magical wars would serve only to confuse or scare them, so she had kept everything to herself. They rejoiced in her good grades but had no idea what they were for; it was part of the complication of being a Muggleborn. The fact was that she was an incredible Witch, but she had no concept of things that her family understood, things such as algebra or fractions, she had never used a computer. She had simply never learned such things.

But a failed relationship? Her mother could understand that surely, and she knew how to comfort; she knew how to be a shoulder to cry on. Climbing the stairs to the South West Tower, Hermione desperately wanted her mummy.

She was lost in her thoughts and so she didn't notice Draco coming down the staircase. Had she seen him she would have noticed that his own expression was as vague as hers and that his thoughts were not entirely on getting down the stairs. But she didn't see him, not until she ran into him, and when she did she yelped more with surprise than pain.

And then she saw that it was Draco and her mind instantly whirled back to Severus and the woman in his bed – and all the things that she had said about Draco.

"Sorry," Draco was saying, coming to himself and steadying her by grasping her shoulders gently, "are you alright?"

He sounded a little tired and she guessed that he was probably still trying to recover from whatever he had done with the whore. She wondered if he had at least had the decency to wash himself before returning to Harry.

"I'm fine," she snapped, pursing her lips in a perfect rendition of Minerva and staring at him as though he were something feral. He was tall and slim and beautifully good-looking. It was little wonder that Harry was in love with him, and he could be as charming as anyone. It was such a shame that he was a lying cheating bastard. Her eyes narrowed and she scrutinized his pale face.

"Is there something wrong?" He drawled and he knew instantly when someone was looking at him in a way that was less than friendly.

"Yeah, you are what's wrong!"

"Got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning Granger?"

"No, I've just paid a little visit to my ex."

Draco paled. Hermione didn't think he could get any paler than he already was, but she was proved wrong in a spectacular way. Even his lips drained of blood. His drawl however, was as steady as ever. "So, how is our illustrious Potions Master?"

"Preoccupied. His rooms are a little crowded at the moment."

"I see." He was sounding a little strained now, but he sneered a little and added defensively, "moved on already has he?"

"According to his friend, you were the one having all the fun."

He didn't speak; he just stared at her, his face taking on the spiteful look that she remembered so well from their years of hating each other.

"She's a very interesting woman and she talked about you…a lot." Her eyes flicked over him searching for some clue, or a chink in his armor. "So what happened Draco, Harry not enough for you?"

"Harry is plenty for me," Draco spat, "so don't go sticking your nose into things you don't understand."

"Don't you speak to me like I'm an idiot!"

"Then stop acting like one! You know nothing about what happened with that woman."

"I know it has something to do with your father!"

A muscle worked in Draco's cheek and he folded his arms tight across his chest. "My father is a side show attraction and he may as well be dead."

Hermione contemplated continuing her interrogation, but decided pursuing an argument with Draco about his father would probably end in disaster.

"Did you sleep with that woman?"

"Granger, I did not sleep with that woman," Draco was still defensive, almost hugging himself, "not that it's any of your business if I did."

"Harry's my friend, so it's my business if you're cheating on him!"

"Well relax Mudblood, I'm not cheating on anyone."

Hermione almost hit him, hating that he could just revert to his old habits so quickly, "then what did you do?"

"Nothing that you'd understand."

"Explain it to me and I might just surprise you."

"I doubt you could."

She made to push past him; she'd had enough, and she was sick of them all. "I'm going to tell Harry right now. Maybe that might help you decide whether to explain it to him."

"Don't!" Draco grabbed her arm, pulled her back and she saw that she had at last hit on something that was going to hurt him. "Please, don't tell Harry."

"I thought you hadn't done anything wrong."

"I haven't! I said I wasn't cheating on him and I meant it. Regina, that woman, she has some information that I need, and all I did was ask her what she knew, that's all. She's difficult…she's a little…"

"Mad? Yeah I guessed that."

"Look, I'll tell Harry, I'll explain everything to him, just don't go running to him when you don't understand everything."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When are you going to tell him?"

Draco shuffled nervously. "Soon. I'll tell him soon. Please, just give me some time."

Once again the desire to hit him was almost overwhelming. "I'm not going to hide things from Harry, particularly given the consequences that came from keeping things from Ron."

"I'm not asking you to! I just don't want you to go running to him with some story that probably isn't true!"

Hermione glared at him. All of the anger she felt, all of the hate and disappointment, seemed to be embodied in front of her. She wanted to knock him over the staircase and let him fall, let him plummet down until he landed so many floors below, and let every bone in his body break so he could feel the same way she did. Then she and Harry could go and get Ron and it would be the three of them, together again, safe and secure and not needing any one else.

"Make sure you tell him," she hissed as she pulled her arm from his grasp and continued up the stairs. "Because if you don't, then I will."

She didn't wait for him to answer, anger was making the stairs easier and she ran the rest of the way, wanting nothing more than to be away from him and wishing that every Slytherin could be swallowed into the earth.

*********

Considering the trials of his morning, Snape's day was surprisingly quiet. It helped that he had no qualms about pacifying Regina through any magical means. Unlike many of his kind, he didn't think that stupefying Muggles was any kind of crime. As the day progressed however, he knew that he'd have to get rid of her, and he was reluctant to do so without gleaning some kind of information from the woman. Draco had tried, but despite his best efforts he had done little more than feed her madness and get her off.

Snape had spent the day drinking and scanning earmarked pages of a never-ending journal. The answer could be anywhere within its pages. Lucius seemed to just open the thing, find a blank page and start writing, so that there was no logical order to it. But he was sure that he could do this without Regina, just because he had rushed off to find her without thinking of the consequences. Lucius had to know what she was; he would never have put Draco in that situation willingly. So the answers were in the journal, and now he just had to find them.

The journal was clear about how Lucius had met her. The Dark Lord had sent him to look for her and he had found her on the last day of Voldemort's first reign of terror. He had gone to a mad house and taken her away. He had, most importantly, believed her.

She must have told him something important, something that he would have kept secret, or at least something that would make him think that he could attempt to defeat a Dementor's Kiss – and he had, in a manner of speaking.

Snape turned to look at the woman. She was definitely a woman, but he had the distinct impression that she was little more than a girl. She was thankfully dressed now, in that extravagant gown that Lucius had so obviously paid for. She was also immobilized; as still as a statue, and he really didn't want to release her. He wondered how Lucius had coped with her.

One thing he knew, Lucius talked to her. Perhaps that was the answer. Instead of asking her questions about Lucius, perhaps he should ask her about other things, things that were sacred to her. Perhaps he should ask her about Angels.

He released the charm and hoped that she would be lucid. She fell forward, not expecting release, and landed in an ungraceful pile on the floor.

"You are not very nice," Regina complained, dusting herself off as she pushed herself up from the floor. She inspected the gown for holes, surprising him with her concern for the garment.

"I thought you liked your men mean," Snape said with his usual quietness. He was still sitting beside the fire, he had scarce moved all day.

Regina giggled her response, but she made no move to come closer, tired of being paralyzed every time she did.

"You can come to the fire," he murmured and indicated the chair opposite himself. She came towards him hesitantly but did not take the chair, just swayed a little before settling herself on the hearth, with her gown fanned around her. She stared into the flames, glowing a little orange in their light.

"When can I go home?" She asked.

"Soon," his tone was a little icy and she shivered and warmed her hands near the fire. "I'll take you back tonight."

He figured that he should probably arrange for dinner. He hadn't eaten since he'd gone to get her the previous day, and he'd not offered her anything, so she hadn't eaten either. She could well be starving. He found himself frowning as he wondered where her food came from. She could not possibly work; she was completely insane. He had also seen her cottage. It was small and remote, removed from anyone's path. It was also well warded to keep out any unwelcome visitors. She was slim to be sure, but she seemed well fed. Lucius had kept her safe and the cottage was ancient but in good repair. It was not draughty or rundown. The gown she wore now was the one she had been wearing when he had found her the previous day, and she had not changed to go on the journey, so she most likely had a closet full of beautiful things.

"Where does your food come from?" He couldn't help but ask, and it could well prompt her into conversation.

"Lucius," she said dreamily. "A woman from the village brings it. She's a squib and Lucius pays her lots of money," she turned to smile at him. "Lucius takes care of me."

Snape looked doubtful. Last night she hated Lucius Malfoy, tonight he took care of her, and Snape wasn't sure what she honestly thought of him. Snape also doubted that Lucius had paid a squib so much as a sickle; threats seemed a more likely option.

Regina was happily playing with some of the ash that had strayed from the fire. The coals and flames seemed to fascinate her. She giggled again and turned back to him, "you look older than Lucius, but I don't think you are."

"No," he looked down at her, not moving his head at all; he just peered down his nose, "I'm younger."

"How much?"

"Seven years."

She giggled again, "He is very beautiful…not like you."

"That's true." He poured himself a drink but didn't bothered to ask her if she wanted one.

"I used to think he was the Devil," she giggled at that, "my Mother used to say that the Devil could make himself look beautiful so that he could fool the weak minded. They thought I was weak minded, but I wasn't, I knew what he was."

"You knew what he was? The Devil?"

"He's not the Devil silly! I just thought he was. He's an Angel now…" She frowned, confused for a moment, "but he always has been…that's what makes it funny. I didn't think it would work, but he knew it would, he knew what he was too." The frown on her face faded and she switched from bemused child to a woman in an instant. "Is that man really hurting him?"

Snape continued to scrutinize her and after a while decided that it was fine to continue, she seemed calm, and he hoped it would last. "I thought you hated him?"

"He saved me. He loved me."

"He hurt you."

She grinned and the unmarked side of her face lit up, whilst her eyes glittered with an almost unearthly brilliance. "There's a fine line between pleasure and pain."

How very Lucius, to take an innocent to this masochistic thing by his fire. Lucius had created his own little pleasure doll, full of perversions for when he felt like indulging his own.

"The little Dragon is like him."

"He never used to be," Snape replied stiffly.

"He asks lots of questions."

"He wants his father back."

She looked into the fire and picked up a poker to jab absently at it. "Why does he want him back? Isn't he old enough now? The Dragons are supposed to fly, fly, fly away from the nest and never come back! He couldn't help Lucius, not like I could. I knew lots of things…lots of things that you don't know, and lots of things that Lucius didn't know."

"And what could you know that he didn't know?" He scoffed a little, knowing that he sounded just like Lucius, not wanting to betray his own interest.

"He didn't know about the Angels, not like I know. I told him all about them. I knew them and he didn't."

"But you told him, so now he knows."

"He knows and he was so happy," she laughed, brightening again. "He said I was a good girl and he gave me a gift."

"That was nice of him," Snape said dismissively, "what did you tell him?"

Regina sighed as though it was perfectly obvious, "About the Angels of course!"

He fought his own impatience and the urge to hex her and send her back to her cottage. She moved from the hearth, crawled across the floor to him and rested her chin on his knee, her long fingers stroking his black clad calf. He flinched, but didn't push her away; resisting her seemed to set her off. "I don't know anything about Angels," he said carefully. "I don't suppose you remember what you told Lucius."

"Will you give me a gift?"

"If you wish."

"Can I suck you?"

He rolled his eyes and maintained his steely gaze, "No," he replied, "You can't suck me."

"Why not?" She looked up at him, her large eye imploring. She must have been stunning before Lucius had melted her face.

"Because I'm not in the mood right now."

"What about later?"

"Maybe," he sounded dubious but she seemed to settle at this, as though he had promised.

"The little girl this morning, is she your lover?" Her finger trailed up his thigh and he shifted uncomfortably.

"That is none of your business."

"She sounded like she loved you this morning," as her fingers inched closer to his crotch. "She sounded heartbroken." Regina sighed dramatically and giggled as the tips of her fingers reached their target. Snape shifted, crossed his legs and dislodged her effectively, and she pouted, disappointed.

"Tell me about Angels," Snape said, ignoring the look on her face.

Regina sighed again and curled herself around his lower legs like a cat. "Do you believe in Angels?"

"I believe in many things."

"The Angels came after the Gods but before all other things. They came before our world and after that came the abomination and after the abomination came your world."

Snape went over the statement in his head and deciphered it, "and what was the abomination?"

She rubbed her cheek against the outside of his thigh and when he relented and stroked her thick hair, she purred heavily. For all her madness, it was perhaps affection that she craved. He wondered if Lucius had ever given her any and thinking back to his own experiences, so long ago now that he had to search for them, he decided that he must have. It was probably how he got her to talk.

And she seemed ready to talk now, nestled comfortably against his legs she seemed to go into a dream, but she was happy to talk to him. "In the beginning," she said, almost trancelike, "came the Watchers, sent by God to watch over mortal man. First came the Day Star, son of Morning and he saw that the daughters of men were fair. He took a wife from amongst the daughters of man, and God cast him out into the abyss for his sin. The Watchers soon followed the Day Star's descent; they saw and lusted after the daughters of men. Enoch wrote that Semyaz said unto the Watchers; _'I fear that perhaps you will not consent and that this deed shall be done and that I alone will become responsible for this great sin.'_ And so the Watchers swore an oath not to abandon their mission and that they were for all time bound together by their sin. They took the most beautiful of the mortal wives and taught them the magical medicines, incantations, charms and the cutting of roots, and then the mortal wives begat the immortals children.

Enoch wrote that the children who are born from the union of the spirit and the flesh shall be called evil spirits upon the earth, because from the day they were created from the holy ones they became the Nephilim; their first origin is the spiritual foundation."

"Nephilim?" Snape frowned as he sank his fingers into the satin smoothness of her hair, "it means…abortion, doesn't it?"

"The word is old and its meaning has become corrupted. They were the abomination, the powers of the ancients in a mortal body. They were the first of the magical kind."

"The first Wizards?"

"The first of your kind."

Snape could not help but feel the weight of her words. If it was true then she had just given Lucius Malfoy a holy birthright and more than justified the man's overriding sense of self-righteousness. No wonder he'd found it interesting. News like that would have made Lucius Malfoy dance the Brigadoon.

"The Nephilim numbered two hundred in the world, and some were as beautiful as the stars, whilst others were as crude as the beasts that crawled on the ground. Man feared all of them. The Nephilim stayed within their kind, where they multiplied and grew and slowly they spread into the world of man…and their numbers grew still more. As they multiplied they grew more powerful and the fear of men turned to hatred. Only then did the Nephilim seek the secrecy of magical places and the worlds became separate.

Those that kept to their own kind became known over the millennia as pure bloods. Their line was untainted by the blood of man. They kept their birthright sacred and their fallen ancestors would always keep their oath; they would always come to the purest of them when called, and their protection would be eternal only so long as the line was pure."

Snape had stopped stroking her hair, his fingers were still and he couldn't even discern the texture of it any more. For a moment he ceased to breathe and he stared into the growing darkness of the room. The answer was there, staring him in the face. But how could Lucius have been so sure? Even those who prided themselves on the purity of their line; how could they truly know? It had been thousands of years, and Enoch's texts were ancient, from the beginning of time. How could Lucius be so sure that his line was untainted?

How many times had he thought it himself? Faces of Angels and the ability to do terrible things. Did Lucius simply look in the mirror and see proof?

"Could Lucius call his ancestor?"

"He had to call him by name. Enoch was taken to the heavens and granted immortality; he became the Metatron, the link between God and man; the keeper of earthly wisdom. Lucius knew that the Metatron would know the name of the fallen one who began his line. Lucius summoned the Metatron and bound him with the darkness of the demon realm and sought the name. He took the blood, oil and the feathers of the dying ones, he anointed and opened the seven gates in turn, then he summoned Azazel, who begat his line."

And so that was how it was done. One had to summon an ancient ancestor to protect him. "But why did the Kiss trap him?" Snape didn't realize that he had spoken aloud, and he couldn't understand why the Kiss had worked on any level. Perhaps the Angel could not protect him after all?

"Azazel could only shield Lucius' soul with his own, and so he could not protect him from those things that the Kiss would bring. The body is a coffin, but they had it planned. Lucius would tell the little Dragon how to free him and they would be released from the coffin." She smiled up at Snape, her face almost gleeful, "but the Dragon doesn't know and the Dragon cannot help." She couldn't contain her giggle, "and if the Dragon doesn't help him, then the Angel will die."

"I thought the Angels' were immortal."

"Not in the coffin of the mortal body. The mortal body is weak; the Wizard is stronger than the Muggle, but he is still mortal and the Angel's life is finite in the coffin."

Snape was almost afraid to ask, "and what happens if the Angel dies?"

Regina's eyes glittered in the firelight and she looked up at him as though drinking him in; "if the Angel dies, the bringer of light grows dark and dim."

"Lucius dies?" Snape sat forward suddenly, dislodging her again. "Does he know that?"

"He knows all. Lucius said it would be better than the alternative if he couldn't be freed."

Non's words were ringing in Snape's ears; Lucius was sick, and Non thought that the Curator had caused it, but it had been a while now. Lucius had been trapped for a long time. "How do we free him?"

Regina sat back and smiled happily, "It's easy silly! You have to release the Angel!"

"How?"

She shook her head as though he was stupid, "Anoint and open the gates and then set him free. You're not very smart are you?"

Snape suppressed the sneer that was aching to get out. "I need things," he said in carefully measured tones, "blood, oil and feathers you said, but how did Lucius get them?"

"I gave them to him; they were special."

"Then can you give some to me?"

She pouted playfully, knowing that at last she had the upper hand, "not until you give me my gift."

He glanced around the room, and it was now so dark that he could not see its corners. He wondered what he could give her and then the realization of what she was going to ask for dawned on him. "I'm not having sex with you."

She shrugged and looked a little disappointed. "Remember, Wizard, you promised me a gift."

"I'll give you something pretty."

"I want you."

"I can't give you that."

"Then I won't help you any more." She folded her arms and turned back to the fire, resolute.

Snape pushed himself out of his chair and walked away from her. She had given him far more than he had anticipated, especially after their failures last night. She had resisted Draco and yet she had just sat there and told him things with little prompting at all.

And of course now she had demanded payment. The relics of the Angels were only a small part of the work, and he still had to open the gates and release the Angel. There was little doubt the incantation to do that was in the journal. He needed to get the Angel relics to make the potion to anoint the gates and as he had no ability to walk between worlds he needed to get those things from her. Without them, Lucius would die.

It would be easy enough. Lock the door, change the wards and let her do as she pleased. It certainly wouldn't be the worst thing he had ever done.

But who was Lucius to dictate this? Why was he, Snape, the one to fix all this? So many people had died during the war; many by Lucius' hand, that Snape was under no real obligation to save him. He could leave him as he was and let him die. Lucius had certainly considered it a valid escape.

"I'll take you home now," Snape muttered.

"You'll let his light go out?"

"I'll try something else."

"There is nothing else," she came up behind him and tickled the back of his neck, "I can make it nice, you'll like it."

"I have no doubt of that." He tried to be gentle as he shrugged her off, but he wanted her gone.

Regina picked up her skirts and danced along the floor as though on a tightrope. "I'm ready to go home now," she sing songed.

Snape nodded abruptly and went to find his traveling cloak.

*********


	42. Mad World Part 4

_Chapter 17 Part 4_

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Four weeks after Valentine's Day, Ron found himself still sitting in St Mungo's, bored and desperate to be anywhere but there. February had passed into March without his having set foot outside the hospital walls. The time had passed in such a blur that he'd counted his weeks by Harry's dutiful Saturday visits. His days were spent surrounded by anxious relatives who often spoke to him as though he would shatter at any moment. His mother could not stop touching him, protectively fussing, checking his temperature and his comfort, and worrying constantly over his state of mind. Ron could not help but feel ashamed of himself when he saw his father. Arthur Weasley had always been able to relate to his son's, treating them more like friends than his offspring. But he didn't know how to be with his youngest son any more. He had lost two sons in the war, and then his youngest had almost taken himself from them. He came to the hospital daily, but he stood by the window and gazed out silently, only commenting occasionally on the activities of the oblivious Muggles below.

Fred and Bill came and went regularly, and whilst Fleur brought the baby in occasionally, she spoke to Ron as though he was mentally defective, all of which made him want to yell that he was fine and that he understood English a damned sight better than she did. George came late, usually just before Ron was induced into sleep, and sat quietly, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching. He spoke rarely and he always kissed Ron on the forehead before he left.

Ginny, Molly informed him, was to stay at school. With her NEWTS getting closer she was bogged down with study. Ron found it hard to believe that his sister was stuck at school studying when Harry and Hermione found time to come and visit. He knew that Harry always brought Draco to the hospital with him, but Draco stopped to visit a friend in another room.

This friend, Ron realized fairly quickly, was Pansy Parkinson. He was aware that she had scared Molly half to death a couple of weeks before by being in his room at the crack of dawn. He had asked his father about her and his father had reluctantly told him what had happened to her. Ron had felt sick to think about it.

Arthur Weasley had decided on a seemingly reckless course of action. Once he was made Minister he was planning to prosecute allies who had committed what he considered war crimes against the families of Death Eaters. He was still working out a way to approach Draco Malfoy to testify, and the young girl down the hall was another on his list, except the healers had warned him not to mention anything about her ordeal lest she have another breakdown. Most of the Weasley family thought that his determination to go ahead with the trials would cost him the election, but Arthur decided that no matter what, it would be worth it. He also trusted in the decency of the Wizarding Council; the body who would elect him.

Ron wondered if his father had immersed himself in this project from his sense of outrage or because it gave him an excuse to leave the hospital quickly.

Ron had known for a week now that he would not be returning to Hogwarts. It had not been his decision but he had not felt the need to fight his parents. He didn't want to go back, and he certainly didn't think he could face all those people knowing why he'd been absent. After considering his options he realized that not everyone from his year at school had finished. Then again Fred and George had dropped out before the exams, and all of them appeared to be living well enough.

Staying in the hospital however was not something he considered an option and he had spent his morning begging his mother to speak to the healers about allowing him to go home. When she had tearfully told him that it would be better for him to stay a little while longer, his reaction had been to become despondent and dull, something the healers seemed to think proved that he was not yet well. In a way he found himself agreeing with them. The depression came and went and apparently would never entirely leave him.

Dusk was the time he hated the most and as he watched the light change outside his window he could not help but feel a sense of dread. It was St Mungo's habit to sedate their more difficult patients and he knew the procedure well. A nurse would come soon with a small cup of sleeping draught. She would stand beside the bed while Ron drank the draught, then she would help him down into the bed and bind his hands so that he couldn't claw at his wounds during the night. Then he would lie there until he fell asleep, drifting off slowly while the nightmares began before he was truly sedated.

For some reason the draught made him dream with such clarity that he could not shake the reality of them. He did not know what was purely dream and what was memory any more. It was not something he had expected. Unlike Harry, dreams of the war had not plagued Ron. Once it was over he had continued to sleep soundly in his bed, wrapped safe in the knowledge that Voldemort was finally dead and gone. He had considered himself lucky, for whilst Harry was wracked with guilt because he had killed people, Ron had never killed anyone and he'd never had cause to worry about it. But since coming to hospital he had become aware of just how much he had seen.

The dreams were horrific; he was finally able to comprehend what Harry had endured for years and Ron was amazed that Harry wasn't mad.

A nurse came through the door, smiling briskly and carrying his sleeping draught. He frowned and looked to the window, the sun hanging low and the room gradually darkening. He hadn't realized that it was so late.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron looked anxiously to the doorway, "Have you seen my brother?"

"Your brother? George? No, not this evening. Maybe he's been held up."

"Maybe," Ron didn't feel convinced, but George wasn't there. Maybe he'd given up coming. Ron felt his stomach sink, he'd become used to the silence of his brother watching over him as he fell sleep.

The nurse smiled a little more gently this time and brought the potion over to the bed, "I'm sure he'll come, now drink this down and relax."

"It's not the most relaxing stuff," Ron said stiffly.

"I know," she laughed sympathetically, "but it's better for you than Dreamless Sleep."

"How about just letting me get some normal sleep for a change?"

"I can't do Ron," she smiled again, dropping the formality, "it's more than my job is worth." She held the draught out to him. "Come on Ron, drink the potion."

He took the goblet reluctantly and stared in at the sticky pink contents. It was sweet too, awful and cloying. He lifted the goblet to his lips and gulped it down quickly, grimacing as it slid down his throat in a thick trail that reminded him unpleasantly of bile, or thinking back to his second year, maybe even slugs.

"You're a good boy," the nurse said soothingly as she patted his cheek lightly and Ron almost smiled back at her. She wasn't a hell of a lot older than him, and it seemed utterly ridiculous for her to be calling him a _'good boy'._

He shuffled down in the bed without bothering to argue with her, when it came to the next step of his bedtime ritual. He knew only too well the consequences if it didn't happen. He'd woken up with deep rivulets of skin under his fingernails and his arms freshly bloodied, as though he'd been trying to finish the job in his sleep. She bound his hands gently, but he still felt like a victim ready for torture.

"Now you relax," she patted his cheek again, "and have a good sleep."

"Oh yeah, brilliant sleep."

"Sarcasm suits you Ron."

"Great."

She smiled a little regretfully, "Good night, Ron."

He wiggled his fingers from under his bonds in a parody of a wave he then watched her go. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered idly where George was and why he wasn't here with him. He wasn't tired yet, and he knew he wouldn't be tired for a while. Hermione had charmed a few luminous stars to shine on the ceiling as it grew dark. At first they had soothed him, but after a month of looking at them, they bored him.

Where was George?

"Lonely Ronnie?"

Ron jumped. He didn't need to crane his neck to know who it was. Her voice was so imprinted in his brain that he would remember it even if he hadn't seen her for a lifetime. Coarse with cigarettes and hate. His entire body tensed, as he willed his muscles to fight the relaxing effect of the sleeping draught.

"I should have guessed that you'd botch it," Angelina peered down at Ron and sneered. "You can't even be trusted to kill yourself properly."

"What do you want?" Ron heard his voice slur a little. "Why are you here?"

"Oh I don't know," Angelina was smiling, "sisterly concern?"

"You're not my sister."

"No, I'm not." She was positively grinning now and she ran a finger down the multi colored blankets, "I'm much more than that aren't I?"

Ron struggled to focus and felt his muscles melt into the bed. "Go away…please go away."

"No…no I don't think so." She sat herself on the edge on the bed. "I've missed you Ronnie, did you miss me?"

"No," he mumbled thickly. "Please, please…just leave me alone."

Angelina laughed softly and rocked gleefully. Ron tried to remember something he liked about her, or at least what he was thinking when he'd slept with her, when he'd wanted her. Did he ever really want her? He tried to remember something from school, from playing Quidditch, when she'd never let him quit despite the fact that he was so very bad. How had she changed, and why had she become so very bitter?

"Charlie always said that too," Angelina, replied, her voice no longer full of false pleasantness. "'Leave me alone.'" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She placed one in her mouth and lit it. "You Weasley boys are all the fucking same."

"George is coming soon!" Ron frowned; what had she said before? Something about Charlie?

"George is in the cafeteria." She took on that bitter smile again, "he saw an old friend in the foyer, just _'had'_ to go and have a cup of coffee…you know how it is."

"George?" The potion was taking effect and Ron heard his voice as though from far away.

"So it's just us, Ronnie, you and me. Exciting isn't it?"

"No, I need to sleep now, the Healers will check on me…they…"

"They've strapped you down, Ron; they won't be coming back till morning." She drew hard on her cigarette, in such away that would probably give her hideous lines around her mouth as she grew older. "Why are you so keen to get rid of me? You really don't want this visit to end, Ronnie. I can assure you…you won't like what happens when it's over." She scanned her eye over the raw scar down his arm and grinned, "then again, perhaps you might."

"Why did you come?"

"Because, you stuffed it up, you silly thing!" She finished her cigarette leisurely. "I thought it would have been obvious."

"Stuffed what up?"

"Well everything of course, you couldn't just go and die like you were supposed to now could you? You had to do such a piss poor job of it. Cutting yourself up, what are you? A fucking Muggle? What about poison for Merlin's sake! Snape has a whole store cupboard full of the stuff and you decide to hack yourself up? You're pathetic you know, a really pathetic fuck up." She was shaking her head and stubbing out her cigarette against the side of his bed. "Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into that drug I created? It had to be perfect every time; there was absolutely no room for error. You had to get high and aroused and then the after effect had to be so subtle that you wouldn't even notice it at first. Just the right amount of malice and despair; the right edge, to bring out what is already deep inside you."

"But why?" She wasn't making any sense, and what did this have to do with Charlie? His brain was becoming cloudy, and he hoped she'd make her point soon, before he could no longer comprehend it. "What did you mean about Charlie?"

"Ahh, Charlie, good old Charlie." She stroked Ron's pale arm, "in the end, I suppose it all comes back to good old Charlie."

"But you hardly knew him, and Charlie died…"

"Yes he died," she waved her hand impatiently, "and what a terrible pity eh? Head blasted clean off his shoulders. It was a terrible mess."

Ron's mouth opened and closed silently; she hadn't been there, how could she know this?

"And you have to know…and this is really very amusing, when his head got blown apart his face actually hit Harry's," she chuckled nastily. "When you think about it, it was probably Harry's first guy on on guy kiss." She laughed heartily and Ron felt his stomach churn.

"But how do you know this? How could you know?"

"Because I was there silly, right there, right in the middle of it," She sighed at the memory, "and it was spectacular."

"You saw Malfoy kill Charlie?"

"Malfoy?" Angelina laughed again, a hard laugh that was harsh to his ears. "Lucius Malfoy didn't kill your brother. Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy kill your pathetic brother when Harry Potter was standing not two feet away from him? What do you think Malfoy was, an idiot? No no no, _I_ killed Charlie."

For the first time since she entered the room, Ron felt entirely alert. Without thinking he made to sit up, forgetting the bonds holding him to the bed. "You? You…how? No, that's not possible. Malfoy, he killed Charlie! You couldn't have killed…"

"Why not?" She looked a little perturbed by his lack of faith. "Don't think I have it in me?"

He knew he looked confused and panicked, and so he just stared at her. Yes, she had it in her; that much was horribly obvious. The question was why, and for that matter, how had she managed it without anyone seeing her? He felt his mouth open and heard his voice asking those very questions.

"The how was easy. I was there, he was there and Lucius Malfoy was in just the right spot." She shrugged, "and so I killed him. I knew it was just a matter of time, and there was enough death around us so that it was merely a matter of waiting for the opportunity to present itself. Of course, Malfoy was convicted for killing Charlie, but who really cared about that? Right? He'd killed plenty of other people, and it wasn't as though he was going anywhere."

Ron could hardly believe what he was hearing; the casualness of which she spoke of killing his brother, as though it had been nothing at all. He stared at her horrified. "But why?"

"Because he left me," she said matter of factly, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it with her wand. She dropped the wand carelessly onto the bed by his feet and turned to him impatiently, "He used me, and then he dumped me. Isn't that reason enough?"

"But you didn't know him well enough, there's no way, he wouldn't, not with you!"

"Why not with me? Not attractive enough? You didn't seem to have a problem with me?"

"No…he wouldn't betray George…he was better than me, he was…"

"He was as fucking pathetic as the rest of you! Do you know, when I was sixteen I was supposed to be seeing Fred, but Fred seemed to have a thing about hanging out in the showers a little too long after Quidditch; if you catch my drift, and then he broke down in tears when he finally told me that he found Lee Thomas' arse more attractive than mine. That was my first Weasley experience. George provided a nice little shoulder to cry on, but I was a bit concerned that he might share Fred's… _'problem'._ Then the Tri-Wizard tournament came along and Harry was our champion; as usual," she yawned falsely, "Charlie brought all those Dragons and I met him then. No one knew, but Fred told me that Charlie was bringing them for the tournament, so I snuck out of the tower to go and see. Charlie caught me, we spoke, got along and I lost my virginity against a Dragon packing case." She grinned at the memory. "He was so exciting then."

Ron frowned.

"The problem with Charlie was that he was _such a mummy's boy._ " She shook her head in disgust, "and though he wanted to screw me; he _loved_ to screw me, he couldn't tell anyone. I was too young, he knew he was doing a bad thing, and he knew that his mother would kill him. My god, you should have heard the litany of excuses. He would just whine and whine and whine. We'd fuck and then he'd spend the next four hours going on and on and on about how wrong it was. Fuck! It was painful to listen to." She sat herself back down and smoked silently for a while, and then finally she sighed out a deep lungful of smoke. "After my final year of school I suggested to him that we should maybe get married. I was stupid you see, I thought that marrying me might appease his guilt and he'd get over it." She seemed to fade a little then. "Merlin I don't believe how stupid I was. He was horrified; we couldn't tell his mother! Molly fucking Weasley wasn't going to accept anything remotely like her son fucking someone so much younger than himself! Oh no, no one could find out that Charlie had been screwing an immature little schoolgirl. So you know what he did?"

Ron shook his head dumbly.

"He came up with this…his 'brilliant' idea. I should marry George. George had a crush on me, George was easily manipulated, and I could convince him that I loved him. Charlie was so sure that I could be such a wonderful actress that I could pull it off, and I was a fucking fool. I loved him so much that I went along with it. Once I was in the family I was there at his beck and call. He could see me whenever he wanted to and George was as he always was; so completely engrossed with what he was doing, that he was far more interested in having a good time than worrying about what his wife was up to. It was easy and it worked…for a while."

"Stop!" Ron closed his eyes, not wanting to hear anything more. "Just stop it."

"Oh good grief Ronnie, you should be happy, Mummy's little "Saint Charlie" wasn't so perfect after all." She laughed, "and I heard she that said you should have died instead of him. Oh Ronnie, what a lovely thing to say…silly cunt."

"How do you know what she said?" Ron felt a sting of tears. "She wasn't thinking when she wrote that letter."

"She was thinking," Angelina said darkly. "The problem is that she thinks the worst things first and recants at leisure. Charlie was the same. He had me; his dirty little secret, all packaged up respectfully as his brother's wife, and then he realized that George actually loved me, and he couldn't stand it. The fact that I had screw two different men meant nothing to him. All he cared about was his own guilt…and his own pleasure. Your whole fucking family is the same. He _decided_ that it had to end, not me. He decided that I would be a proper wife to George and that would be that. Happy fucking families. What I wanted didn't enter into it, and I was never important in any of his decisions. Charlie figured that I should be on my knees thanking the heavens that I should be privileged enough to be married into your stinking family. It didn't matter who I was married to, I should have been pleased no matter what!"

She reached forward and grasped Ron's chin hard. "But I wasn't pleased, Ronnie, and I certainly didn't feel _privileged,_ Ronnie. I hated him. I hated the way he ignored me during those family dinners that I was forced to endure. I hated having to look at Molly, sitting there, forcing everyone to act the part of the perfect child, while she happily ignoring the fact that the her whole family had gone to shit. She sat there and knew how miserable I was and she just kept pushing it.

"When are you going to get pregnant, Angelina? Why do you fight with George so much, Angelina? You don't treat my son well enough, Angelina. You don't know how to treat a man, Angelina. You should be proud of being in our family Angelina; don't you know that Arthur is going to be the next Minister of Magic?" Big fucking deal! Ginny's a slut, Fred's a fag who's fucked most of the rent boys' in Knockturn Alley and look at you, fucking your sister-in-law and then deciding to top yourself…except you fucked that up, didn't you?"

"I tried my best," Ron murmured bitterly.

"But it wasn't good enough. I worked so hard to get you to that state. I gave you enough Dormus to ensure you stayed depressed for the next hundred years, and I made damned sure it would never leave your system. I made sure your whole family despised you and you only had one little job to do; one stupid little job, and that would have made it complete. George would have pined away, and Molly would have blamed herself, possibly into an early grave. All her horrors would have come true. Three of her precious sons dead, and one whose blood was on her hands. Oh it would have been so sweet." She glared at him, "except you couldn't play your part could you? You go and cut yourself up like a fucking Muggle. You know, I still can't believe you did that!" She sighed and looked at her cigarette, now burned out down to the butt. Annoyed, she flicked it across the room. "It just proves my theory, if you want something done properly; you have to do it yourself."

Angelina pulled the pillow out from under Ron's head and Ron's breath caught in his throat. His eyes were heavy now, and although his head felt cloudy, but he was no fool. He knew something was wrong. "What are you doing?"

"Oh calm down, Ronnie, it won't hurt! It'll be like going to sleep…permanently." She smiled at him and when he went to speak she shushed him, "I thought you'd be happy, Ron. This is what you wanted, and I'm just making it easy for you."

"Please…"

"Close your eyes Ronnie." She pressed the pillow down over his face and pushed down hard. Ron struggled, stronger than Angelina had anticipated he would be and she silently berated the healers for not giving him a stronger draught, or for not binding his feet as well as his hands because he had started to kick, thumping his feet hard down onto the bed. He was screaming, but the screams were muffled into the pillow, and no one would hear them.

"I don't know why you are making such a fuss," Angelina laughed, "you faced it down once before. All I'm doing is just helping you to finish the job."

But Ron still struggled and she was forced to push a little harder, hearing an unmistakable howl of pain from under there and she wondered if she had possible broken his nose. He was faltering; tired, and his resistance was fading. The feeling of power was good and the feeling of him falling away beneath her, of his life ebbing away at her command, was exhilarating. "Not long now, Ronnie, not long, not…"

Angelina never finished her sentence, and she only became aware of another presence in the room a moment too late. It was only after the sound of a voice crying out a curse came that she even thought to look behind her, but by that time she had been knocked off her feet and was flying across the room, slamming hard into the opposite wall, the pillow still clutched in her hand. She landed on the floor and gasped for breath, her ribs aching. She could feel something wet running down the side of her face and her head seemed to be screaming out in pain. She groped in her robes for her wand and realized that she had left it at the end of Ron's bed, and that Ron had no doubt kicked it on to the floor.

Had it been George? He wasn't supposed to be finished so soon and once he got talking she knew full well that he would take his time, but perhaps he had come up. Angelina struggled to her feet, her face set, ready to confront her husband.

But it wasn't George. She looked across the bed, where Ron was panting hard to regain his breath and struggling to stay conscious, and saw a young girl. She looked tiny, so thin and frail and although she looked familiar, Angelina couldn't place her face. Angelina scowled and made to advance and then the girl raised Angelina's own wand; obviously retrieved from the floor, and pointed it at her.

"Stupify."

Angelina dropped like a stone.

Ron turned his head and tried to focus on the girl who had saved him. She looked defiant, but now that Angelina was down her face had become frightened. He knew her, he knew her presence, and he felt the draw of her. So fragile that he wanted to sit up and hold her. He wanted to keep her safe and the feeling was overwhelming.

"Pansy?" Ron tried to smile, but he was fading, the sleeping draught finally claiming him. Behind her, George had just come through the door and Pansy was dropping Angelina's wand, as Ron sank into sleep.

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Hermione hadn't noticed February become March, she was counting her weeks down by just how close NEWTS were and how much study she could possibly cram into that time. Months and dates made little sense, as she buried herself in what she knew and understood best, study. She would, if nothing else, ensure that she got all of her NEWTS.

She would then leave Hogwarts and never have to set eyes on Severus Snape ever again.

Although what she was going to do once she left wasn't entirely certain and no definite decisions regarding her career had been made. She had gone to Minerva for careers counseling recently. Her only previous ideas had been to teach, but now she was thinking that perhaps she could become a healer or something of that ilk. Either way, more schooling would be necessary. Minerva had advised her of various Wizarding colleges dotted around England, some small specialist places, and nothing like the huge Muggle Universities. She had to decide what she wanted well before she applied to go.

St Mungo's had their own training facilities, and the teaching college was in Wiltshire. She had decided that it would be best to apply to both, but both required a high standard, and she had to get Outstanding in all of her subjects.

And to do that she had to study.

Every so often Lavender would try to convince her friend to go out, leave the school grounds and perhaps have some fun. Lavender's reasoning was simple. If Hermione didn't take a break soon, she would snap. On these occasions Hermione had gone from polite refusal to being outright mean. Why didn't Lavender go out with her other friends? Wasn't Padma Patil more interested in dressing up and going out flirting than Hermione was? Why didn't Lavender stick with people more like herself?

For Lavender's part, she took the abuse with a pinch of salt. There had been a time that she would have pouted, whined and bitched up a storm, but now she could only think that she was growing up when she let it wash over her. She knew that it was merely a symptom of Hermione's unhappiness.

Hermione found herself going to her Potions classes and operating through them as though in a trance. She brewed her potions, listened to Snape's voice out of necessity, but never once raised her face to look at him. She watched Harry's progress out of the corner of her eye and automatically corrected his mistakes before he made them. She focused on Harry's frustration during these classes and not her own. She did not raise a hand in class, nor did any question pass her lips and aside from copying down her work from the blackboard, she didn't look at the front of the room at all.

For Snape's part, he left her well alone, avoiding the table, sure that she was coping with the work well enough and not wanting to put himself into a situation where either of them might end up in a public confrontation over who was right and who was wrong. Harry had to consider these classes the best Potions lesson's he'd ever had. He had never been so Snape free, and it was almost enjoyable working out how to put the Potions together, always ensuring that they worked and marveling at just what they could do. Without Snape hassling him, Harry could actually see why people enjoyed the subject.

To others in the school however, Snape had become even more of a tyrant. Harry had passed him recently in the corridors, with a small first year quaking under his very presence.

Hermione ignored Snape's increased cruelty to the school's populous. If she thought about it rationally she knew that she would worry, and he didn't deserve her worry. She put up a brilliant façade, laughing at jokes that didn't interest her in the slightest, then diligently going to meals and smiling with false happiness at anyone and anything. She continued to be brilliant in all of her classes, dazzling her teachers with her usual performance. Only those closest to her knew that anything was wrong. Only those who watched her closely knew that she went straight to her room after classes and studied alone.

But in the middle of March, Hermione realized that the façade was not going to continue, at least not with the precision she wanted.

It was Lavender who ended the façade, and she didn't even realize that she was doing it. She simply asked a question. An innocent question that changed everything that Hermione had ever considered her life to be worth.

It was a Saturday night and Dumbledore had finally decided that Harry and Draco could go back into Hogsmeade, as some of the furor regarding their relationship had died down – that and the fact that the pair were going stir crazy cooped up in the school when everyone they knew could come and go as they pleased. Somehow a weekly trip to the hospital was not enough to keep them entertained. Harry had begged Hermione to go with them, to make a night out of it, and help him drag Draco back to the castle when he was too drunk to walk.

Hermione had refused of course, and aside from her own moodiness, she still wasn't sure of Draco. She'd said nothing to Harry about the mad woman as she had promised, but her trust had been shattered and she didn't want to have to add to her already troubled sense of outrage.

Lavender was going with them; without Hermione to keep her company, and she kept up a steady stream of chatter all day, hoping that perhaps Hermione might change her mind.

And then it came. Lavender was looking through her bedside table with some dismay before turning to Hermione with a little frustration. "Do you have a tampon, Sweetie?"

Hermione looked up from her Magical Runes essay and frowned, "pardon? What?"

"A tampon?" Lavender smiled hopefully. "Do you use them, or a pad will do if that's all you've got? I'm out. Oh Gods, please don't tell me you're out too because I'll have to go and ask Susan and she is always on me about running out, but then of course, she's like a…"

Hermione wasn't listening. Her mind, which seconds ago had been entrenched in the secrets of the Runic Square, was now busy doing some elemental mathematics.

"So, tampons? 'Mione?"

"Huh?" Hermione looked at Lavender, startled.

"Tampons?"

"Oh…yeah, I've got some." She abandoned her book, feeling a little giddy as she wrenched open her dresser drawer, revealing several unopened boxes of tampons and sanitary napkins.

"Fuck Hermione, have you been stockpiling?"

"No! I…um," she began to chew her lip and her expression changed and became worried, "I just…I like to be prepared."

Lavender scoffed, but missed the horrified look on Hermione's face. Lavender continued on blissfully unaware of the panic forming. "There is being prepared, 'Mione and then there is preparing to go underground." She laughed at her little joke, and then noticed that Hermione had paled and she also seemed to be staring trance-like into the distance. "Are you ok honey? You look a little sick."

"I…yep…I'm fine." Hermione smiled falsely and her voice squeaked out, unnaturally high.

Lavender raised her eyebrows and took a step back, placing her hands firmly on her hips. "You know, for someone that has been wandering around pretending to be fine for weeks on end, you would think that you'd be better at lying by now."

Hermione tried to laugh, forcing her voice to sound light, but it failed miserably in the face of sheer panic. "I'm not lying…I am…I'm fine, really."

"'Mione, you can tell me if something is wrong. Is it something other than Professor Snape?"

"No, no of course not." She gnawed at her lip, chewing so hard that she tasted something coppery flowing into her mouth and realized that she had drawn her own blood. "Everything's fine," she said absently, licking at the small cut in her lip. "It's nothing…"

Lavender shook her head, not believing Hermione for a moment. Something was wrong because Hermione was looking more than just miserable. She was pale and the look on her face seemed a combination of shock and worry. Lavender turned the box of tampons over in her hand, trying to work out what to say or what questions to ask that would possibly make Hermione open up to her. She looked around the room and her gaze finally settled on the draw full of sanitary products and an idea came to Lavender's mind.

A stupid idea. It had to be a stupid idea because there was no way it could be right.

"Um, 'Mione…how long exactly has it been since you had a period?"

Hermione frowned again and chewed a little harder, drawing fresh blood. "Not…not long."

"How long?"

"Not long ago?"

"Like how not long ago?"

"Um…" Hermione paled further and looked positively chalky, for a moment Lavender feared that she would faint. "Well, maybe a little while."

"How long?"

Hermione took a deep breath, "the twenty-fourth of January," she said precisely.

Lavender's mouth fell open, "Are you sure? Are you usually on time? Didn't you notice anything?"

"Well, no…" Hermione looked up at Lavender helplessly. "I haven't been noticing much lately. I've had a lot on my mind." She pursed her lips a little and continued, "but it could be anything…I mean, I've been really stressed and I haven't been eating very well. There could be loads of reasons why I missed a period."

"Yeah," Lavender was nodding aggressively, "like you could be pregnant."

Hermione returned to silently gnawing her lip.

"Did you use protection?" Lavender's voice had reached a frightening pitch, and she was forcibly resisting shaking Hermione like a rag doll. When Hermione didn't answer Lavender turned away and then snapped her attention back to the girl sitting on the bed surrounded by textbooks. "Oh my god! You didn't use protection, did you?"

"Yes…" Hermione suddenly brightened, her eye's shining with hope, "yes we did. We did use protection."

"What potion did you use?"

"Um, none…condoms."

"Condoms!" Lavender smacked her own thigh, irritated. "He's a bloody Potions Master for Merlin's sake! What are you using condoms for?"

"I…" Hermione blushed, "I don't like the idea of taking potions as contraceptives."

 _"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?"_

"No!" Hermione glared at Lavender indignantly, "and what's wrong with condoms anyway?"

"What's wrong with condoms? Hermione, they are fiddly, they break, and they are only ninety-six percent effective!"

Hermione looked flabbergasted as Lavender ticked the list off on her fingers. "Ninety-six percent? How do you know that?"

"It says so on the box!"

Hermione snatched a battered old box of condoms out from the back of the drawer, determined to prove Lavender wrong. She scrutinized the box, scanning the fine print until the basic warning seemed to glow in front of her eyes. Her face fell. "Oh."

"Exactly, 'oh'."

"Well…" Hermione searched desperately for some piece of hope, "ninety-six percent is not too bad, and they work for Muggles all the time."

"No," Lavender replied impatiently, "they work for Muggles ninety-six percent of the time."

"But that still means that my chances of being pregnant are low," Hermione concluded logically. "Like I said, there are plenty of reasons why I could have missed a period."

"Hermione, you've almost missed two! It's heading towards the end of March now!"

"I'm sure it will come this month, so there is nothing to worry about. It's stress, that's all, just stress."

Lavender could not believe what she was hearing. She couldn't believe that Hermione was being so blinkered, and that she was doing it on purpose. "Hermione, look at it objectively. You are sexually active…"

"Was," Hermione interjected.

"Alright, you were sexually active, but it's been almost two months since your last period." Suddenly her eyes widened as she remembered something and she almost jumped with excitement, " _and_ you said your boobs hurt the other day!"

"Oh and that just settles it," Hermione grumbled sarcastically.

"Well, I think it just adds to the possibility!"

Hermione turned away looking helpless, her lip bleeding mercilessly into her mouth. "It's not possible," she muttered, more to herself than Lavender, "and it wasn't as though I was screwing half as much as Harry and Draco."

"News flash Hermione! Until Harry grows himself a womb they really don't have to worry about this problem."

Hermione blanched and then oddly found herself wondering what made Lavender so sure that Harry bottomed.

Lavender tried to calm herself a little, taking a deep breath and sinking onto the bed beside Hermione. "Look, honey, we need to do a test or something. You know, rule out the glaringly obvious and then relax…that sort of thing." She tried a gentle smile. "I mean, your period suddenly stopping can't be a good thing anyway, so you should find out what it is…right?"

Hermione gazed longingly at her books, wanting only to lose herself in their pages. The world her textbooks described seemed so much safer than the one she now inhabited. She longed for the dry rhetoric, the straightforwardness of their pages. This life seemed so visceral, with so many things that could not be ignored. NEWTS were in three months, and if she could only hold out a little while longer, it would all be over. But Lavender was right and Hermione hated that Lavender was right and that she was trying to bury her head in the sand.

"Look," Lavender was saying, pushing herself up from the bed and beginning to pace, "I'll tell Harry and Draco that I can't go to the Three Broomsticks with them, it'll probably be a good thing anyway – I get turned on when they start snogging…anyway, I'll tell them I can't go, then I'll go in to the Apothecary and get a test for you. I'll be back within say…" she looked at her watch, "an hour, or maybe just over, and then we can do the test. Okay?"

Hermione gaped at her, and she could barely speak. She had always been so good at these things. She had been the understanding one, she understood emotions, she understood how relationships worked, and she thought she understood herself and her body. She was academically adept and she was good at taking charge. She didn't need Lavender to take charge of this. She should be able to do it herself. Except that she couldn't and she needed Lavender to help her because she was just about to fall to pieces.

"So I'll go?" Lavender asked, already collecting her purse.

Hermione swallowed and then smiled gratefully at her friend. "That would be really great," she said quietly.

Lavender smiled, kissed Hermione quickly on the cheek and hurried from the room, still clutching the forgotten box of tampons in her hand.

********  
"So, did you follow her?" Draco was safely secured in a dark corner of the Three Broomsticks, nursing his drink and waiting for Harry to return from following Lavender Brown all over Hogsmeade. Harry's beer had been dangerously close to going flat and so in his thoughtfulness, Draco had drunk it for him. He was well pleased when Harry returned because now Harry could go to the bar and get a fresh round, and Draco could stop sipping at his drink in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of Neville Longbottom sipping at a lollywater. He downed his gin in one quick gulp and fished his money bag from his robes.

As far as pubs went, Draco far preferred the Leaky Cauldron. There he could sit at a stool by the bar and Tom the bartender would pour him drinks and arrange for someone to carry him to a room when he got too inebriated to walk. No one noticed him there; he was just another drunk Wizard in a pub whose clientele was many and varied. The Three Broomsticks, on the other hand, had a different feel altogether. Madam Rosmerta had narrowed her eyes the moment he had walked through the door and he doubted that her eyes had left him the entire time he had been sitting there; and Jed behind the bar was staring with such distrust that Draco was sure that they expected him to start swiping the glassware.

There was nothing like corrupting everyones favorite little hero to win friends and influence people, he felt like getting up and taking a bow, telling everyone, "yes, I give it to Harry Potter up the arse and you should hear the noises he makes," but somehow he figured that might be pushing his luck.

Harry had suggested that they go to the Hogshead, but somehow Draco figured that could end up a lot worse; at the Three Broomsticks people stared, at the Hogshead they could well get their wands out and all hell could break loose.

Now that Harry was back, Draco relaxed a little. Just why Harry had decided that he simply had to follow Lavender was beyond him.

"She went to the Apothecary," Harry said in answer to Draco's question. He slid into the booth and picked up his surprisingly empty glass. "I think she's up to something," he concluded.

Draco shrugged and pushed some Galleons towards Harry, Lavender Brown deciding to go to the Apothecary rather than drink with them was not really any of his concern. "Maybe she's sick," he offered without interest.

"If she is sick why doesn't she go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Draco shrugged again and nudged the money a little closer to Harry, "are you going to get the drinks then?"

"Fuck you're lazy."

Draco grinned and sat back in the booth, "yeah, maybe, a little bit," he drawled and then poked the tip of his tongue out at Harry, "I always pay though."

"Like I care who pays," Harry laughed and was tempted to reach out and touch that pink tip of tongue, then he frowned and said thoughtfully, "I still think she's up to something."

Draco rolled his eyes, he was going to be drawn into this conversation whether he liked it or not. "Lavender probably has some embarrassing infection that girls get," he almost laughed at the way Harry screwed his face up, "she probably wanted some privacy to get her medicine and you followed her."

"But it just didn't sound right when she said she couldn't stay for drinks."

"So you think it's more important to drink with us than it is to fix a sore itchy pussy?"

Harry visibly cringed; "Oh Gods, that's disgusting!"

"Well you followed her when she went to get her pussy medicine."

"You dirty bastard!"

Draco laughed and shoved him gently, "go and get the drinks."

Harry was grinning, but he was supremely glad to end that conversation. He scraped the Galleons off the table and made for the bar.

Draco watched him go with some regret. When he was with Harry he felt incredibly happy. He felt at ease, accepted, he felt supremely loved. And yet of late he had held back. When Harry asked about what was happening with his father he evaded the question, he had been purposely keeping their conversations superficial. Quidditch, sex, school, sex, exams, sex, it seemed to satisfy Harry, but every so often he could see a look in Harry's eye, like he knew Draco was hiding something but did not want to say anything.

To make matters worse, Snape had become as evasive with him as Draco had become with Harry. He had taken Regina from the castle and told him that he had been able to get very little from her. Having been evading Harry's questions for the last month he was aware enough of when someone was doing the same to him. Snape knew something and to keep Draco happy he had been teaching him to mask his thoughts from Harry, so as not to betray Regina to him.

The problem was that guilt was making it difficult. The more he masked her, the more he wanted to reveal all. And of course there was the possibility that Hermione would tell Harry something and all the effort would have been for nothing.

Draco began to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, placing drinks on the table and nudging Draco over with his hip.

Draco pulled his thumb from his mouth quickly and smiled brightly, "Nothing, jagged nail, that's all." He felt his face strain and relaxed the grin, "Maybe we shouldn't have come," he said looking around, "people keep staring at me."

Harry looked around and had to concede that they were getting more than a few stares. "Fred says that there is a club somewhere around here, we could find that if you like."

Draco looked dubious, "A club that Fred Weasley told you about?" He raised a cynical eyebrow when Harry nodded, "I think I can give some gay bar recommended by Fred Weasley a miss."

"You're never happy, you know that?"

"Yes I am," Draco replied indignantly, "I'm happy!"

It was Harry's turn to poke his tongue out. "Just drink your drink and you can get nice and drunk and you won't notice people staring at you."

Draco sneered and looked doubtful.

"Either that or you'll start hexing people who are staring at you – and I'm willing to take that risk."

Draco grinned a genuine grin at that and considered himself as having a Harry Potter approved license to hex people for the night He downed the contents of his glass and slammed it back to the table. Harry rolled his eyes and slid out of the booth, deciding it would be best to just go and buy a bottle.

On his way to the bar he noticed a group of eighth years trouping in the door, by the state of their cloaks he guessed that it had started raining again. Seamus Finnegan raised a hand and waved in Harry's direction.

"Harry!" Seamus called, "Lav said you were here, where are you sitting?"

Harry pointed to the back booth and smiled as they all headed in that direction, he figured Draco would react better if they all turned up without warning – and that they would obscure his view of the crowd. Harry could only imagine what kind of hex Draco could think up when he was drunk.

********

Lavender did the trip to Hogsmeade and back in record speed, thoroughly aware that Hermione was no doubt sitting in their room gnawing her mouth into a bloodied mess.

Hermione was doing just that. She had not been able to return to her study, as her mind no longer able to focus on anything other than the impending test. She paced the length of the room, stopping every so often to move something. An ornament, a piece of clothing, a pillow from her bed to Lavender's, anything that entered her field of vision. She sort out and petted Crookshanks and then, much to the bandy legged cat's displeasure, she took out his brush and began to work at the knots in his ragged ginger coat.

She did not honestly believe that she could possibly be pregnant. An unreasonable part of her brain said that she just hadn't had enough sex to get pregnant. A theory that was ridiculous because it was just simply wrong and she knew it. But still, the likelyhood was slim and there were many other reasons why she could possibly have missed a period. Her logic told her that that much was true. Hermione knew she had told the truth when she had blamed stress as a possible cause. She was certainly stressed, and no one could deny that.

So much had happened in such a short period of time. She had lost her virginity, invested her heart and then had it stamped all over by a man who was old enough to be her father and whom she had to see on a daily basis. One of her best friends was still in hospital after trying to take his own life, her other best friend was gay, and although that was not a problem for her, she was worried that Draco was about to break Harry's heart. NEWTS were well and truly on their way and Hermione had no idea what she was going to do when she finished school. Yes, she had enough to stress about and it was most likely the reason behind her missing period…s.

She had just managed to convince herself of it and had finally released Crookshanks who had run madly for the cover of Lavender's bed, when Lavender slipped back into the room looking flushed from her run to the village and back.

"You have no idea how hard it is to stop Harry from asking questions," Lavender panted. "Fucking hell! When he gets it into his head that something is up he just doesn't let it go!"

Hermione could well imagine, as she had known Harry for too long and too well to doubt it. "You didn't tell him did you?"

"No, of course not, but I warn you, he's suspicious that something is going on." She opened her purse and pulled out a small bottle and a clean glass phial. "He saw me go into the Apothecary, and I swear he followed me there!"

"Well, it sounds like Harry," Hermione smiled, "he's very perceptive, and he'll make a good Auror."

Lavender shook her head, "annoying is what I call it. I had to pretend that I had some kind of venereal problem to get him off my back." She held the phial out to Hermione, "here. Go and piss in that."

Hermione looked at the phial for a long while, feeling so dry that she was certain no moisture would ever come from her body again. She swallowed painfully and tried to clear her throat. "Lav, I don't think I could get anything out."

"Oh come on," Lavender shook the phial impatiently. "You can surely get a few drops out, anyone can get a few drops out. Now take the bloody phial and piss in it!"

Hermione took the phial reluctantly and slipped it into her pocket. She gave Lavender an uneasy smile and left the room, knowing that Lavender was watching her go and knowing that if she didn't come back quickly, that Lavender would go looking for her and no doubt berate her for hours on end.

Urinating in a small glass container was surprisingly easy, if not a little messy and she returned to the room quickly, where Lavender appeared to be timing her.

"I thought you might do a runner," Lavender said jovially.

"I considered it."

Lavender rolled her eyes and decided not to call her a chicken. "Did you get some out?"

"Yeah, a little." Hermione pulled the phial out from her pocket and screwed her nose up at its contents. Lavender was holding out her hand for it and Hermione handed it over, forgetting to be embarrassed at the fact that Lavender Brown was now holding a small bottle of her urine – a situation she would have never considered herself to ever be in.

Lavender placed the phial on the dresser carefully and then lit a small fire in a trinket box. Hermione watched with some interest, Lavender seemed to know what she was doing, and Hermione could only wonder if she had done this before. Then again, Lavender had no children of which to speak, so probably not. Perhaps she was just following instructions very well.

"Now, I have to heat the potion until it turns green," Lavender began swirling the potion bottle over the flame, "then, we add three drops of your pee and if it turns pink your pregnant and if your not it will stay green. Easy eh?"

"Yeah," Hermione scoffed humorlessly, "bloody easy."

Lavender held the bottle up to inspect the color, it was green. She placed it down on the dresser and used an eyedropper to add three drops of urine. Hermione was cringing as the drops swirled into the potion, they seemed to ooze and separate, a little like a tiny version of the lava lamps that had been in the windows of dozens of Muggle stores over the past summer.

"Maybe we should stir it," Hermione suggested.

"No," Lavender watched it anxiously, "the Apothecary didn't say to stir it."

They both watched the tiny bottle, perplexed.

"It's not changing color," Hermione sounded a little triumphant…and certainly relieved.

"I think it has to mix properly first."

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling a little more confident, and returned to watching the potion. It seemed to take forever and they both were beginning to feel a little foolish watching pee ooze in and around a green potion, but slowly the drops began to dissolve and the liquid began to change.

It began to glow at first, as though a light had come on from inside the potion itself, and then the light moved and changed, before it finally began to glow strong and solid – and very pink.

The girls sat back from the bottle and stared in silent shock. Lavender turned to Hermione, trying desperately to think of something constructive to say, but unable to come out with anything at all. Hermione was now looking as though it was only shock holding her upright and Lavender thought that perhaps she should try and move behind her a little, in case she fainted dead away.

"Are…are you okay?" Lavender managed to say at last.

"It's not possible," Hermione whispered

Lavender looked uneasily to the startlingly pink potion and once again was lost for words.

"It can't be possible."

Lavender decided to ignore Hermione's shock. "What are you going to do?" Lavender said, making sure that she sounded calm, or at least calmer than she felt.

Hermione sniffled and blinked and tried to match Lavender's enforced calmness, "We have to get rid of it," she rasped.

**********


	43. Mad World Part 5

_Chapter 17 – Part 5_

********

Draco closed the door to his bed chamber firmly behind his back and leaned against it. He felt exhausted. He also doubted that he had laughed so hard for a very long time. Perhaps hanging out with people he went to school with was not such a bad thing after all. He was still glad to be back however, such close proximity to his bed automatically caused every muscle in his body to relax

Well, all except one. Harry was already dragging his robes over his head and tugging at the Weasley jumper he wore beneath and watching him had caused a familiar sensation in his loins.

"That was more fun than I thought it would be," Harry was saying as he struggled with his clothes, "Neville can be a funny bastard when he wants to be."

"Oh yeah," Draco drawled, watching smooth skin slowly being exposed, "fucking hilarious."

"You didn't have a good time?" Harry turned to Draco, naked from the waist up, his pants riding low without a belt to hold them up, and exposing the smattering of dark hair that covered Harry's lower belly. Draco's eyes lit up like it was Christmas.

"I had a great time," Draco replied, his eyes wandering over Harry's naked torso, "it's just that I can think of a few other things that I'd rather be doing."

"Ahh," Harry nodded, a grin spreading across his features, he toed his shoes off in a lazy way. "Other things eh?"

Draco's wriggled, attempting to make his erection more comfortable in his pants, the fine velvet robes he'd worn into the village suddenly itching to come off. "Yeah, a few things," he whispered.

Harry lay on the bed, stretching deliberately, arching his back a little and displaying himself perfectly. "What kind of things?"

Draco was caught between jumping on Harry, or tearing his clothes off and jumping on Harry. Either way, jumping on Harry was definitely involved in his plan. He licked his lips in anticipation and wrenched his robes off, caring little that the silk knot buttons were torn off in the process. He mounted Harry still half dressed, pushing Harry's legs apart, pushing his knees back and grinding his hips hard against Harry's. He pinned Harry's wrists to the pillow and gazed wide eyed down at his lover, "something like this," he growled and bit down hard on Harry's collar bone.

A thrill rushed through Harry. A thrill edged with pain and he gasped and hoped that there would never be a time when he tired of this. Pleasure laced with pain, addictive like a drug. The heady mounting arousal, leading to ecstasy. He began to laugh, throaty and seductive, "planning to take what you want, Malfoy?" He rasped it out, thick with desire.

"You should know by now, I always take what I want, Potter," Draco drawled in reply, grinding his hips a little harder against Harry's.

"Perhaps I should disappoint you," Harry gasped.

"You wouldn't," Draco panted, moving as though they were making love, wishing that they were naked and that he was moving inside Harry, "you want it too much."

Harry's mouth found the sharpness of Draco's jaw and he savored the texture of smooth skin and the traces of stubble that would become a dirty blonde beard if left to grow. His hands ran down the length of Draco's back and came to rest at the top of Draco's arse. He traced a finger along the waistband of Draco's pants, idly speculating on what the fabric was and deciding that it must be wool. It seemed an odd thought at such a moment and he almost laughed out loud at himself.

He wanted out of what was left of their clothes, and he leaned in close and whispered into Draco's ear; "I want you in me."

"I know," Draco gasped, "I will…I…" but Draco, aroused beyond what he'd expected, was already cresting, lost in sensations that were now overwhelming him.

And suddenly, unbidden and unwanted by either, the visions came. It seemed to Harry as though a window had opened in Draco's head and without warning he was sucked into this private world without warning.

The images came fast, often so quick and fleeting that Harry had no time to comprehend just what they were, others moved at a slower pace and lingered, memories that must have been particularly sharp and for some reason outweighed the others. The child Draco, grinning an almost toothless grin and gazing up into some unseen face. Lucius Malfoy laughing as he ran through the rain, the wriggling bundle of his young son clasped safely beneath his cloak. Draco being fitted for his first school robes and Harry walking into his life. Draco sitting in an ornate chair looking disgruntled and indignant while his father gave a red hair woman a sack full of gold with the words "keep him safe." Draco staring into the familiar face of Moody. Harry and Draco were kissing, their first kiss, clumsy and innocent. They were making love and Harry was screaming I love you. A man came towards him, amorous and full of evil intent. A woman lay beneath him, naked, beautiful and yet somehow ugly at the same time. She gasped in what could be ecstasy or agony. She arched her back and screamed and he was on her. Draco was on her. Making her scream.

No past Draco was this, no, this memory was fresh and new. This was Harry's Draco; Harry's Draco and he was on this woman.

"Oh Gods, who is she?" Harry cried out and the vision was ended, and he was left with only the face of Draco staring down at him, bathed in sweat and a look of dawning horror written across his face.

"Oh…oh Harry…it's not…she's not what you think."

Harry struggled out from under Draco, painfully disentangling his legs from around Draco's waist. He stared at his lover, not wanting to accept what he had just seen, wanting to pull on a blind fold and pretend that nothing had happened. But he couldn't. He couldn't because Draco was looking at him, his face a mask of horrified guilt.

"Who is she?" Harry asked again as he found his feet and paced back across the floor, distancing himself from the bed, "Who…who is she?"

"She's nothing," Draco's voice was labored, as though he was trying to speak faster than he could think, "she's nothing Harry, I swear, she is nothing."

"What…what were you doing?" Harry's back met the opposite wall and he realized there was no further he could go. He could feel his head shaking, daring himself to deny everything, not wanting to accept that anything could possibly be wrong.

Because nothing could be wrong, not now, not now when everything was finally so right. He was happy. He was finally happy, and he was loved and nothing was wrong.

But it was wrong because there was this woman and Draco was on her and she was screaming and gasping and Harry didn't know why!

"Harry, "Draco rasped, "oh God, Harry please…she's nothing…"

"She…what?" Harry began to shake, "you were on her…w-why? Why were you on her?"

"I didn't," Draco shook his head desperately, "I swear I didn't make love to her, I swear baby, I didn't have sex with her at all, I promise."

A tear slid hot and slick down Harry's cheek. He wanted to believe, he wanted to understand. "But who is she?"

"She's a Muggle," Draco said urgently, "someone my father knew and he told her things…and I had to find out, you understand that don't you, that I had to find out? Tell me that you understand, please…Harry please."

"What…" Harry drew a shuddered breath, "what did you do?"

"I asked her questions," Draco struggled from the bed, hope rising in his voice, at least Harry was listening, at least he wasn't hysterical. "I asked her questions about what she knew."

"But she was screaming."

"Well, she wouldn't tell me…" Draco stopped and he suddenly knew with certainty that this was not going to end well, because suspicion had crept into Harry's features and the wall between them that had been broken down was suddenly being erected as effectively as though bricks and mortar were flying up between them. Harry's face hardened, his jaw became set.

"What did you do to make her scream?" Harry asked, and his voice wasn't shaking any more. There was a hardness there and Draco knew that it was time to tell the truth. If he didn't Harry would simply pry open his brain and take it anyway.

"She wouldn't tell me…" Draco said again and he took a step towards Harry – and stopped when Harry raised a hand to halt him.

"What did you do?" Harry repeated, and now there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

"I didn't…I didn't have sex with her…"

What did you do?"

Draco shivered and found his gaze scanning the floor. He swallowed tightly before forcing his eyes up to Harry's; "I tortured her."

And once again Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, he didn't want to believe, it couldn't be possible. She was a Muggle, and he was, Draco was…Draco was Harry's lover! Harry trusted him, he wouldn't…he couldn't have done this. "You did _what?"_

"I had no choice," Draco looked at him, his eyes imploring Harry to understand, "I had to find out what she knew and she wouldn't tell me. She said she wouldn't unless…she gave me no choice. I couldn't…I tried to persuade her but she kept laughing…so I did Crucio…and that's what made her scream."

"You used the Cruciatus curse on a Muggle?" Harry asked slowly, disbelief was fast giving way to disgust and he stared at his lover as though he were some stranger.

Draco shuddered and wished that there was some way of making this all right again, but the damage had well and truly been done. He could almost see the thought in Harry's head; torturing a defenseless Muggle, how could he sink so low?

And hot on the heels of that thought would come another; that Draco was a Malfoy, so how could they expect any better?

Oh yes, Draco was true to his bloodline. As conniving and cruel as any of his ancestors, as depraved and indifferent as his father. Lucius had taught him well. He was little more than a cold blooded killer.

So why did he now find himself sinking to the floor, why was he shivering and crawling towards Harry, begging for understanding?

"Please, Harry, please…It's not that bad…you didn't meet her, she…you don't understand."

"THEN MAKE ME UNDERTSAND!" Harry yelled suddenly, sliding across the wall and away from Draco's stretching hand, "tell me the truth and make me understand!"

"She knew things about my father, she wouldn't tell me what they were and I had to find out, to help him…"

"So you tortured this woman to get information out of her? That makes you no better than a Death Eater!"

"You would have done the same thing!" Draco cried.

"NO I WOULDN'T!" Harry picked up his jumper from the floor and found his robes, "I would _never_ do that, I wouldn't do it because I know the fucking difference between right and wrong! She's a fucking Muggle for Christ sake, what was she going to do?"

"But she liked it!" Draco's voice was shaking and he seemed to be sinking into the floor, "Please, Harry…"

"She _liked_ it?" Harry cut him off, he was dressed now, he'd pulled the jumper over his head so fast that he'd torn the neck, "you're actually trying to tell me that she _enjoyed_ the Cruciatus Curse?" He sneered down at Draco with mounting disgust, "would you like it?" he drew his wand and pointed it at Draco, "would you like a taste so you can see just how pleasurable it is?"

Draco's mouth fell open and all attention seemed suddenly fixed on the tip of the wand pointed at his face. "Harry?" he said the word, but his voice seemed horribly small, he seemed horribly small; because he was half naked and he was on his knees and Harry was pointing a wand at him.

"It seems to me," Harry said venomously, "that if she found it so enjoyable, then you'd like it too. Isn't that right?"

Draco's mind was wheeling around, screaming out for him to say something, to say no, he didn't want it, or to reveal something of worth about Regina that would make Harry see. But he couldn't think, it was as though his brain had decided to shut itself down. "She wouldn't tell me…" he was saying again, but he wasn't really talking to Harry now, he was trying to rationalize his own mind, "I tried, but she just wouldn't tell me…she wanted…"

"She wanted it?" Harry finished, "Because everyone would, right?"

"No…she wanted me to…she wanted to have sex, but I couldn't," he looked up into Harry's green eyes and thought he saw something there, some flicker of emotion, "I couldn't do that to you…I had no choice."

But this was not what Harry wanted to hear, his mouth twisted with disbelief; "you're blaming _me?_ You actually think that you tortured her for _me?_ "

"No! No, I just, she wanted…and I couldn't…and I needed to know…" He stopped and rubbed at his chest, beneath his breast bone his heart had begun to thump painfully fast. He whirled his eyes to his medicine draw, full of Navitas, full of something that would prevent his heart beating so fast. Now was not the time to have an attack, he didn't have time, he had to explain things – or at least try to.

And yet he'd never had a full attack before and the conditions were certainly right, fear, stress, trauma. A small part of him was wondering what would happen, almost welcoming it. Or perhaps that was the part that wanted Harry to see it and take pity on him and love him because he was pathetic and sick and crawling on the ground.

"She…" he stopped again and had to force himself to breathe. His throat was tightening, and his breathing was becoming increasingly labored. He could feel a heat rising in his back where the wounds had once been fresh and the heat was alarmingly familiar, this was how the Madragora felt at first, like a hot liquid that would soon become a burning writhing fire. Draco's face contorted, he didn't want this to go any further, he didn't want this to happen now when Harry was watching him. He struggled to the drawer and tried to pull it open, but the pain hit then and his eyes shot open, wider than he thought possible and he made to scream, but he had no breath to do it with.

Harry watched him, emotionless at first, as though his lover were some vaguely interesting insect, it took an age for him to realize what was happening, and when he did he didn't respond at first. He just watched Draco, as though he too was wondering just what would happen.

Then he pulled the drawer open and pulled out a bottle. He didn't bother to measure the dose, he simply opened it, grasped Draco's jaw and poured the liquid into his mouth. The effect was instant, Draco fell forward, breathing hard, tears running down his face, but relieved that the pain was gone. Harry noticed hundreds of pinpricks of blood had appeared on his back and could only assume that if he had been left much longer then the scars would have ruptured completely.

He stood again, stepped back and stared down at Draco on the floor. When Draco looked up at him he knew what Draco would see. Soldier Harry, Dumbledore's tool, the weapon of the light. His face devoid of any emotion that would bring him to fail. This was how he had come through the war, this was how he had managed to kill people, he had simply turned himself off, as effectively as a Muggle turning off a light switch.

And he had to do that now, because he couldn't stay with a man who could torture a woman for nothing more than answers.

"I'll come and get my things later," Harry said to Draco who flinched at the words.

"Please don't leave me, Harry, please…" Draco made to crawl to him and Harry stopped him quickly.

"Don't, don't come near me, I don't know you."

And Draco stopped, knowing that it had ended as he always knew it would, he'd lost him and there was nothing he could do. "Harry," he pleaded, his voice keening, "please…please don't go…"

"I'll come about four, it might be best if you're not here."

"Harry…"

Harry turned and walked away, every ounce of control that he had ever learned keeping him upright and moving. Behind him Draco finally lost himself and he wailed Harry's name over and again in a storm of tears. Harry almost faltered, almost turned back, but as the door closed behind him and the sounds from inside became muffled cries, he kept walking until he could hear nothing more than the echo of them in his mind.

******

NOTES:

Yeah, I know, the chapter lengths are getting a little silly now...


	44. I Don't Want to Get Over You

_Disclaimer: See Prologue_

 **Chapter 18**

 **I Don't Want to Get Over You**

Draco rested his cheek on the bar top and studied his near empty glass. Unlike the bar top of The Leaky Cauldron, the bar of the Hogshead was somehow both sticky and gritty, and Draco's cheek was now covered in whatever had caused this effect. It didn't really matter; a dirty sticky cheek was preferable to trying to hold his head up.

It had been six days, eight hours and seventeen minutes since Harry had walked out of his room and thus out of his life. Well, not entirely out of his life. Draco still had to see him every day. Whether it was walking to class, eating his meals, sitting in the Common Room, or just living his life in general, Harry could be seen everywhere – without him. The bastard.

Draco hated endings. In his fifth year he had read the same book seventeen times until he reached the last chapter, then he put it down and waited until he could start the book again. To this day he had never finished that book. He couldn't stand to see it end. Just as he could not stand to see the end of Harry.

He had developed a process after his father was captured, after the war had ended, and then after he was tortured. It was a process of numbing himself and he could produce its effects as systematically as he could produce a potion. It was a simple matter of drinking enough to make him forget. Make him not care. But it was a delicate balance. Like all difficult potions, the mixture had to be just right. Too much and it made him care too much, too little and he could only remember that it was over and Harry was gone. Ended. Finished. Done. The distillate of memory was a bitter vintage, and one he would rather not brew, but one he was all too familiar with.

Why was it; Draco wondered, that life could never be as comforting as a book? Characters in a book never saw his faults or judged him unworthy. If they deemed him an unfit companion, all he had to do was turn back the pages and there they were again, right where he'd left them. Why was it that people were not so easy to find? Why was Harry not so easy to hold on to?

Obviously, tonight he had not found the perfect balance in his drink, tonight he could only remember his loss. In moments like these he found his thoughts would turn absurdly to Archibald Semeuse and the abuse the man inflicted on his father. Semeuse had in Lucius the perfect captive. A living doll. Beautiful, breathing and unable to go. It was a sickening realization that told him he understood the Curator.

Draco could take Harry and with a few simple tricks (a drill, some formaldehyde, perhaps a potion or two) create his own doll. A complex bundle of warm flesh and green eyes – but he wouldn't ever really be Harry. He would be nothing more than a shell, and what good was that?

At least he wouldn't leave.

Draco lifted his head. His thoughts were becoming sick, and so it was obviously well past the time to leave.

His head ached as he lifted it and he flinched, fighting off a wave of nausea. Somewhere from behind him he could hear a sneer and several voices started to grumble. He wasn't entirely sure why he came to the Hogshead to drink himself into oblivion. He had considered that perhaps he was actually hoping to have some malcontent beat him to a bloodied pulp. He wanted pain, something physical to focus on so that his heart could ease. Of course, that was all useless theory. He was usually very good at avoiding pain if at all possible.

He slipped off his stool and swayed a little on his feet. He didn't look so good and he knew it. His jeans were dirty, he was wearing a filthy pair of trainers and one of Harry's old Weasley jumpers. Draco had stolen it from Harry's room because he knew it would smell like Harry – and look like Harry, all crumpled and uncaring. Actually, _he_ was beginning to look like Harry. He hadn't done his hair in days and as he wiped sweaty hands down his jeans he realised that he hadn't had a bath in two days. He really must smell.

He staggered out of the bar, waving a sloppy goodbye to Aberforth Dumbledore who had made a now rare appearance behind the bar, and hurled himself out into the night. It was raining. It was always bloody raining. It was like the sky hadn't closed up since October. He didn't bother casting a basic sheltering charm over his head, as that charm reminded him of Harry and he was determined not to think of Harry.

Harry the bastard. He started to laugh bitterly.

Somewhere a clock struck three. Three in the morning, he was leaving a little earlier than usual. He might even get some sleep tonight. He had taken to getting back to the castle, dozing for a short time and then staggering, still drunk, to classes. It was a habit that had not gone unnoticed. McGonagall had forced a tonic down his throat one morning in front of the entire class in an effort to sober him up. On another morning Snape had slapped him so hard upside of his head that the sound had reverberated throughout the dungeon class room, and his whole body had reeled from the sensation for hours afterwards.

If Harry had noticed he had certainly said nothing. Harry hadn't given Draco so much as a regretful glance. Harry had just marched on happily with his life and completely forgotten about the person he had promised he would love for ever and always.

Bastard.

Well, he was no doubt better off without the bastard. He had lost himself in Harry. He had lost his spark, lost the thing about him that had made Draco Malfoy the person he was. He had become Harry Potter's bitch! Then again, he had also discovered how to make Harry Potter squeal like a girl, and wouldn't the Dark Lord have loved to have known how to do that?

Selfish, unthinking, uncaring bastard!

Of course any fool could see that he was desperately unhappy and his time with Harry had unfortunately endeared him somehow to a few people. It was more cause for notice that no one had so much as attempted to torment him in any way since Harry had left him. This left him more than a little frustrated. He wanted nothing more than to hex the hell out of some twit, but even he had a hard time putting a Bat Bogey hex on someone who appeared genuinely concerned for his welfare. Well almost. When Colin Creevy had deigned to give him that revolting and ever so sympathetic, "you poor thing I know how you feel," look, before asking if he needed anything at all with a cheery, "don't hesitate to ask" and then patted him on the wrist – Draco had truly felt the need to leave him with a case of festering Beluga Pox he wouldn't get over in a long while.

Gods if this was love, they; whoever they were, could take it and shove it up the arse-end of the world.

He pushed on through the rain, back towards the castle and back towards the one place that held his passion and his pain. He hated walking into that Common Room, seeing 'that' door and knowing all the while that Harry was sleeping soundly inside that room. He had come to the conclusion that Harry was probably right. His morals were questionable. He was one of the only people that he could think of who would torture a woman so that he didn't have to cheat on his lover. He also reasoned that if Harry had met Regina he would probably want to torture her too.

Well, probably not.

And yet Harry was perfectly capable of killing a person and as much as Draco hated everyone and everything, he questioned his abilities to perform Avada Kedavra if he ever needed too. He was filled with enough hate and malice to be sure, but he had never been taught the charm. His father had preferred not to teach him that little piece of dark magic reasoning; correctly, that if he was unable to do it, he would never be accused of performing it. Draco was also filled with an ingrained sense of self preservation. He had no desire to end up in prison, dead, or worse - kissed by a Dementor – thus he had no interest in killing anyone. Torture, hexing, being an all round arse hole was all perfectly fine, but he figured he should at least be able to stop short of killing anyone.

He would never be found lying in a pool of his own blood after slicing up his arms. Draco Malfoy wanted to live. Draco Malfoy would live. He was a survivor, that was that.

Then again, he was in the process of drinking himself into an early grave. But that could take forever, so all was well.

He shivered. The alcohol was wearing off, drenched out of him by the rain that never seemed to stop. He was soaked to the skin, his heavy cloak dragging along in the mud. He reached into the wet interior pocket and pulled out his favorite silver flask and downed a hearty swig.

And then he heard a noise.

It was a small noise, hardly distinguishable above the sound of the rain and Draco decided that he must have incredible hearing to have heard it at all. He turned drunkenly, saw nothing and swayed, straining his ears to find the noise again. It came, small and plaintive. A mewing noise. Something living in the forest perhaps. But it sounded small and lost.

If he wasn't so drunk he would probably just keep going. But he _was_ drunk. Incredibly drunk and more importantly, incredibly depressed and this noise was the perfect distraction. Some reasonable part of his brain told him that. He frowned and followed the noise, the little mewing noise, off the side of the path and into the forest. The reasonable part of his brain started sending out alarm bells. This was 'the' forest. Werewolves and Merlin only knew what lived in there and here he was, drunk out of his gourd looking for the source of some little noise, all the time thinking it a perfect distraction to his misery.

But the noise itself didn't sound fearsome. It sounded small and frightened. It sounded like it probably shouldn't be in the forest. Just as he shouldn't be heading into the forest.

He didn't have to go far. Just off the path, amongst the twigs and leaves and mud he found the source of the noise. Draco looked at it. Small and impossibly helpless, Draco reasoned that in such a place and in such weather it really should be dead. The edge of the forest was no place for such a tiny thing, and this weather was certainly no place for such a tiny thing. He wondered if someone had dumped it, or if it had wandered off from it's mother and been lost entirely. It was far too young to be alone. Draco crouched in the mud and stared quizzically at the little animal and wondered if it was at all magical. Most of the animals in this place were, but this little thing looked incredibly ordinary. He picked it up by the scruff of the neck and inspected it.

An ordinary every day kitten. A common, garden variety kitten. The kind of thing that Draco would have chased out of his garden as a child. It struggled in it's position dangling from between his fingers and finally mewed tragically.

"Stupid cat."

It mewed again. It was tiny and helpless and he had to admit it was cute. But it was just a stupid Muggle of a cat. He should just leave it there to die. It had no merit. It was just ordinary.

But as he started back on his way to the castle, the Muggle of a cat was tucked safely in the interior pocket of his robes, a warming charm heating it admirably.

******  
Harry had not slept well for more than a week, and when he did sleep his dreams were haunted by images of creamy skin and pale grey eyes – and sometimes these things would change into something more, something frightening. At night Harry watched Draco die time and time again and when he woke up and found his bed empty he felt he'd died a little too.

But Draco was not dead. Draco was very much alive and depending on what time Harry had managed to sleep could either be out drinking himself into a stupor or stumbling back to the castle.

After six nights of this Harry finally decided to do the one thing that he hoped could cheer him up. He went to see Ron. Hermione had shown absolutely no sympathy for him. After leaving Draco he had gone to see her. Hermione had glared at him for a long time and then unceremoniously slapped him hard on the cheek. And so he was hoping that Ron would prove a good shoulder to cry on and the appropriate boost to his ego by telling him he was absolutely right.

Except that Harry should have gone to see Ron long before now. He should have gone to see him after he'd heard about Angelina, but as usual he'd been so preoccupied with his own problems that despite promising himself daily that he'd go, it was only now that he'd actually managed it. And now that he was here he'd listen for all of five minutes before launching into the tale of his own woe.

Harry was seriously beginning to think that he sucked.

"So you dumped him them?" Ron didn't sound as happy about the news as Harry had expected. "Well I guess that explains the way you look."

"I look bad?"

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, you look like shit." He picked up a plate from beside the bed, "you want a cupcake?"

"Did your mum make them?"

"Yep, she thinks I'm too thin."

Harry took one of the cakes and began licking at the buttery icing.

"You shouldn't have dumped him."

Harry stopped licking as this was not the reaction he had expected or needed. "What? I thought you'd be pleased! You always hated him!"

"Well so did you until last year." Ron began picking at a cake of his own. "Then you started sleeping with him and I seem to recall you here not so long ago telling me how much you loved him."

"I do…" Harry sat him cake down on the edge of the bed. "I still do love him, he just…"

"So why'd you dump him?"

"I _told_ you why! That girl, the Muggle…"

Ron grabbed Harry's cup cake before it fell onto the floor, "look mate, I see your point, I really do, but I've gotta tell you, I've spent the last month or so in here thinking about everything that happened and all the shit I did and to be honest, I've come to the conclusion that we all do crap that we shouldn't and if we were abandoned every time we did we would all be very fucking lonely people." Ron frowned and wondered if he'd just made any sense at all because Harry was still looking belligerent. "You said he did it because she knew something about his father?"

"Yeah, some crap like that."

"You said something was happening to his father?"

"Draco thinks that the Curator of the Museum is doing something to his father's body."

"Like what?"

Harry hesitated, not really wanting to voice Draco's fears lest they sound insane; "sexual things," he said reluctantly.

Ron cringed. "That's sick! Is he sure? How would he know that?"

"I have no idea," Harry said, thinking back to it he knew that Draco was certain it was happening, but he'd never elaborated on just how he knew these things. "He always got really vague when it came to his father. We usually avoided the subject, because he has a habit of looking at Lucius Malfoy as though the man was a saint."

Ron didn't comment on that particular point. He was not going to make any criticism of Draco Malfoy to Harry, even if they had split up, because realistically, who knew if they'd get back together – and Harry would probably pounce on him if he said anything bad? The allegation of abuse alarmed him more so than Draco's love of his father. Ron's own father had been on for almost a year about mistakes made during the Death Eater trials, and his dad had been horrified at the prospect of the exhibition (even though Ron himself had gone gleefully to gloat over Malfoy's body) and to hear this news made Ron stop and think. Perhaps his father was right. He had no love for Lucius Malfoy, but this really was sick. "Has he told anyone?" Ron asked, "I mean aside from you, has he said anything to someone at the Ministry?"

"Fudge wouldn't care," Harry muttered, then continued, "he thinks this exhibition is the best thing to happen to our world since Voldemort died. He knows that he'd be more popular if Lucius Malfoy was suffering than he would be if he did something about it." Harry stopped for a moment as a thought came to him. "Can he suffer? Can he even feel anything?"

"Well since I haven't been kissed by a Dementor I wouldn't know." Ron stifled a yawn, he wasn't bored, it was just really getting late.

Harry didn't notice the yawn. "He hasn't told anyone – except me and Snape."

"Okay, so what does this woman have to do with the Museum?"

"I don't know. I thought she was a friend of Lucius Malfoy's"

"So what information could she have about Malfoy that could help him? Does she have proof of what's happening?"

"I don't know," Harry said again, deciding that he really didn't know much.

Ron drew a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, so this woman, this Muggle, gives Draco an ultimatum and he decides to practice Cruciatus on her rather than cheat on you?"

"Yep, that's his twisted logic."

Ron stared at Harry.

"Don't tell me you think he was right?"

Ron almost huffed impatiently. "No of course not, but put yourself in the same situation. What if it was your dad and you'd been given the same option, what would you do?"

" _I'd_ find another way."

Ron rolled his eyes and changed tactics; "Alright then, what would you have done if you'd walked in when Angelina was on me, if it had been you instead of Pansy?"

Harry squirmed a little uncomfortably, "I would probably have killed her," he admitted, "but it's completely different. Angelina is a powerful witch, she can defend herself!"

"Well that's some pretty twisted logic there, Harry."

"I wouldn't have had any choice, she was killing you!"

"Yeah, she was. But Pansy just knocked her out and then the Aurors came and took her away – you would have killed her. Everyone makes choices that could be wrong Harry."

"The situation is completely different," Harry insisted, folding his arms across his body, "whose side are you on anyway?"

"Yours," Ron replied firmly, "but Harry, every one fucks up, even you."

"I know!" Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself. He had not expected Ron to be so rational; it was so unlike him. Ron was supposed to just nod and agree with him. Instead he had this new perspective, possibly a by-product of screwing his own life up so very much. Whatever had caused it, Harry didn't want to hear it. "I know everyone fucks up, but she's a Muggle, and she was helpless. I can't just ignore that."

Ron stifled another yawn and lay back into his pillows.

"Are you okay?" Harry panicked a little, "are you tired?"

"A little," Ron murmured, "I'm fine though. I can't think of anything else to say. Isn't the fact that you were happy, enough to justify you staying?"

"Not if he's capable of that," Harry replied stubbornly.

"We are all capable of it."

"But we don't all act on it."

Ron shook his head. "You're just being stubborn because you hate admitting you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong about this!"

Ron closed his eyes. "Fine, you're not wrong about it. I'm not going to argue with you about it."

Harry didn't want to fight with Ron either, but he was waging war with himself to try and save his own ethics in the face of Ron's new found rational. "Maybe I should go," he suggested, "you look like you want to sleep."

"No, stay. They've stopped giving me the sleeping brew so I'm not going to nod off anytime soon."

Harry didn't quite believe that, Ron was yawning openly now.

"George will be here soon, stay until he gets here would you?"

Harry nodded. He could hardly blame Ron for not wanting to be alone, as he'd never been entirely safe in this place. He nudged Ron over a little so he could sit more comfortably on the bed. "Well, if I'm staying, you'd better pass me over that plate."

*******  
Non was late. Then again, Non was always late. The knowledge that the Elf was inevitably late did nothing to make Snape's mood any better. He knew full well that the Elf was at the relative mercy of the Curator's comings and goings, but it didn't matter, Snape hated waiting. He'd always hated waiting. He was good at waiting – but it didn't mean he liked it.

He was also hungry and wanted his breakfast, and his stomach grumbled uncomfortably. He didn't want to be sitting in his chambers waiting for a late House Elf. For once in his life he actually wanted to be in the Great Hall eating something. Strange how that worked, when he didn't want to be there he could never escape.

It did enter his mind to just go. Non's reports had begun to sound monotonous in their similarities. Lucius was despondent, Lucius didn't want help, Lucius was in pain, and always with the warning, 'don't tell Draco anything.' Snape was lost in the conflicting messages, knowing full well that anything that painted Lucius in less than a well picture was probably the truth of the matter and any observations that came directly from Non, meant that Lucius himself had produced other messages he didn't know about. One thing was clear; Lucius did not want Draco to do anything that could possibly put himself anywhere near the Museum. To tell Draco that Lucius was entirely conscious and able to communicate would only cause him to go off and try to help his father.

So he couldn't tell Draco anything at all – and that was harder said than done. Draco Malfoy was not the kind of person who took to being shut out when his interests were at stake. So far he had pleaded, fought and outright threatened blackmail, and still Snape had kept Lucius' confidence, telling Draco that he knew nothing other than his father was safe. Draco was no fool however, and without Potter to distract him he was fast becoming suspicious. To make matters worse, Snape was watching his Godson fast becoming an inveterate drunk. It was a shame, helping his father would at least take his mind off Potter.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. It wasn't even the food he wanted. He felt like cake, something sweet. That was odd because he wasn't much of a sweet tooth – except Fizzing Wizzbees which he had a weakness for – but he really did feel like cake. Something very chocolaty.

 _Yeah, eat cake, keep your mind off the fact that you are dealing with far too many emotions right at this moment._

He had never felt so old as he did at that moment. He was still reasonably young, especially for a Wizard, but he felt older than Dumbledore. The war had been hard, but he was supposed to be resting now. He had done the hard slog of his life, he'd paid for his sins, and he was supposed to be enjoying peace and quiet. Instead he had been thrown into this emotional maelstrom. On one side he had Hermione and everything she represented to him and on the other was Draco and Lucius and the pain that they both seemed to exude. Both sides converged together over him like twin storms becoming something fierce and uncontrollable. For a man who had spent much of his life cut off from such feelings it was not a pleasant experience.

To take his mind off his stomach he reached for a book. He had surrounded himself with a new array of volumes that focused on Muggle religious icons, and he once again began to fervently read through the journal into which Lucius had poured so much of himself. Now that Snape understood the process – it was easy enough, anoint and open the gates and then release the Angel that inhabited Lucius' body – the instructions in the journal made far more sense. The incantation to anoint the gates was reasonably straightforward and he was fairly certain he could muddle his way through the sketchy potion recipe, but as yet he had found nothing to indicate exactly how to release the Angel, and there were ingredients that he had still to find. He didn't know where on earth he was supposed to find Angel oils, feathers and blood, and he could hardly wander into any Apothecary and ask. He had no real desire to go and see Regina again, but she was the only real source of the Angel artifacts.

Lucius could have hidden things at the Manor, but Aurors had spent months going over the estate, and Snape doubted he would find anything more than they would have. No doubt Lucius had hiding places aplenty, secret places that no one would ever find – which was absolutely no use to Snape.

He could just do as Lucius wished. Do nothing at all and leave him to his fate. The Angel would die and Lucius along with it. Draco could mourn and life would go on. And that would be the end of it.

And Snape could mourn too. It would have been better if Lucius had died in the war. It would have been better if they both had. It would be better if Snape could just hate him as he wanted to; he was loving too many people at the moment, too many people who could hurt him.

And where the fuck was Non?

A knock at the door broke his thoughts and he frowned. It had been a long time since anyone had come to see him in the evening. Minerva McGonagall could hold a grudge like an elephant keeps a memory and he had well and truly pissed her off with the whole Regina thing. He had no doubt that she would come back eventually. He'd pissed her off before; he'd done a whole lot worse before, and she'd forgiven him – it just took a while. So he doubted the person at the door was Minerva, well, not Minerva on a social call anyway.

He barely had time to call enter before the door opened and Dumbledore ushered a reluctant Minerva into the chamber. She had her arms folded defensively across her chest and a look so stern on her face that he suddenly felt like a student again and she was about to give him detention. Dumbledore didn't look much better, there was no light in his eyes and the frown on his face creased his brow into a deep furrow.

 _Oh dear Gods they're going to fire me._

"Albus." He nodded stiffly. "Minerva."

Minerva pointedly ignored him, but Dumbledore nodded amicably by way of reply. Snape noticed that still no light reached the old mans eyes; there was no gentle humor on his features.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked silkily. He figured if they were going to fire him, he could at least retain some of his dignity.

"We just have to wait a few minutes, Severus," Dumbledore replied, patting him on the shoulder as he passed him, "I've sent for Harry."

Potter? Snape relaxed a little, as he highly doubted they'd invite Potter to his sacking. Still, he didn't relish the idea of having Potter in his private chambers and the look on his face must have belied this fact because Dumbledore looked slightly amused despite himself, and told him it was for a good reason.

Dumbledore moved to the fireplace and looked at the two hard leather wingbacks on offer as seating. Shaking his head he conjured himself a squishy armchair and took a seat. It was something that was so incredibly Dumbledore, and yet Snape still could find no real smile on his lips. As the Headmaster stared into the flames of the fire, Snape could not help but notice that he looked more troubled than he had for a very long time.

So maybe Dumbledore felt cheated too, the end of war hadn't ended the worries at all. Minerva hovered behind Dumbledore for a moment, before finally coming forward and gently squeezing her lover's shoulder. Her face didn't soften in the slightest, so whatever was on Dumbledore's mind was also plaguing her.

Snape scowled and turned away from her. If he was going to be made to wait he would at least sit in his favorite chair, Minerva knew she could sit if she wanted to, and he wouldn't have to concern himself with her mood. In the meantime he would endure this uncomfortable silence until Potter chose to grace them all with his presence.

Potter came eventually, barging into the room without knocking and looking out of breath. He made his apologies, and said he'd been playing early morning Quidditch with the Gryffindors and lost track of time. He didn't look good. He looked as though he hadn't slept for a week, and he even had a little stubble on his chin. He looked drawn and tired and Snape felt a cruel smile tug the corner of his mouth. He threw a thought Potter's way, ensuring he caught it.

 _See, it isn't easy being the one who leaves._

Potter looked him in the eye and shook his head with a small movement. He didn't want to do this; he was hurting, and Snape could feel it.

 _Too fucking bad._ Snape turned back to the fire, aware that Potter was now taking his mind off Snape's comments by sizing up Snape's chambers. Harry decided that it was exactly the kind of place he thought his Potions Master would inhabit. Imposing, dark, rudimentary and full of books. More books than Harry would read in a life time. His eye lingered on the chair beside the bed and Snape realized that a silk nightgown had been thrown over it. Hermione's. Snape had bought it for her, along with many other things and she had left it there – he had never moved it, it was the one thing he allowed himself of her. Right at that moment however he was wishing it wasn't there for all to see. Harry dragged his eyes away from it, glared at Snape and then turned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Good, you're here at last, Harry," Dumbledore said a little crisply, something that threw both Harry and Snape. The Headmaster must really be worried; he usually never spoke to Harry with anything other than concern or regard.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor."

"Why don't you sit down?"

Snape sneered. Now Potter was going to sit in one of his chairs.

And Harry did, sinking into the hard leather wingback and wincing. There was nothing comfortable about it at all. He glanced around the room and saw a day bed in an alcove which looked a thousand times more comfortable than the wingback. Snape looked happy in his own chair and Harry decided that he either had no feeling in his body, or the other wingback was a lot more comfortable.

"So…um," Harry smiled nervously, "so what are we all doing here?"

Snape relaxed a little further, glad to know that Potter was as in the dark as he was. Minerva was glaring at the both of them, her eyes flitting from one to the next and under her scrutiny they both began to squirm. Obviously they had both done something wrong; now they had only to work out exactly what that something was.

"I didn't ask Miss Granger to come," Dumbledore said, straightening himself in the chair and frowned a little further, "although I perhaps should have, as this does concern her."

"Hermione?" Harry glanced at Snape and then turned back to Dumbledore, "what…what has Hermione done?"

"I'm afraid it's more a case of what she hasn't done, Harry." Dumbledore sighed and sank a little lower into his armchair, "I have just spent the day at the Ministry of Magic. There was a sitting of the Wizengamot today." When he looked at the two men in the wingbacks and noticed their blank expressions he sighed again and continued, "Viktor Krum's trial was supposed to be heard yesterday."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked straight to Snape who looked as though he had just swallowed a particularly vicious poison. The Potions Master's mind was reeling. They were both thinking the same thing; Hermione had been in classes all day, and barring extensive use of a Time-Turner she had not left the school at all. Harry had seen her barely twenty minutes ago, as she was heading for the bathroom, and she'd said nothing at all about attending a trial the day before.

"There is an old clause in our laws, one that Hermione was well aware of, that if she did not come to witness the charges being presented, then Mr. Krum would be released and would be free to return to Bulgaria."

"Well, what kind of stupid law is that?" Harry burst out suddenly and three sets of eyes fixed on him. "Well, it is a stupid bloody law."

"It may not be the wisest of laws Harry, but it is one that exists in our world and until it is changed we have to abide by it. As I said, Hermione was well aware of the law."

"So what does this have to do with us?" Snape asked, his voice was low and calm, a stark contrast to Harry.

Harry and Minerva stared at him in disbelief and Harry's mouth open and closed a few times before he finally managed to speak. "What kind of an animal are you?" he demanded, his look of disgust boring into Snape, "don't you give a shit about her at all? What was she to you, a quick fuck and then goodbye?"

"What I meant, Potter," Snape growled, "is what exactly are we expected to do? Is it likely that he will come here looking for her?"

Harry bowed his head, he hadn't even considered that.

"I don't know what he'll do, Severus." Dumbledore sighed again and pressed his fingers against his eyes to relieve an oncoming headache. "He is still bitter and anything is possible. He knows that you care for her and I doubt that he's forgotten what you did to him. So yes, it is very possible that he will come here."

Snape scowled, convinced that he'd given the Bulgarian better than he'd deserved. "I should have killed him while I had the chance."

"That was not an option, Severus."

Snape snorted. It only hadn't been an option because Dumbledore had turned up and stopped him.

"So…" Harry looked from Snape to Dumbledore, "what can we do? Can we find him first?"

"I can find him," Snape replied, "I'll find him and take care of it."

"I don't want you going after him, Severus," Dumbledore said hastily, as he reached across and patted Snape's arm soothingly. "As I said to you the last time you went after him, I don't want you ending up in prison – or worse."

Snape folded his arms and stared mutinously into the fire.

"Well there has to be something we can do!" Harry said plaintively, "There has to be a reason why she didn't go…it's probably this greasy bastard's fault!" He gestured wildly at Snape. "She shouldn't be punished just because he used her and dumped her!"

 _"What!?"_ Snape was out of his chair and towering over Harry who didn't flinch at all.

"You were supposed to take her to that trial," Harry shot back accusingly; "she was probably scared to go alone!"

"And what about you?" Snape hissed. "Her _best friend?_ Why didn't you step up and take her?"

"I…" Harry fumbled for an answer. It was a logical enough question and Harry was well and truly ashamed of the only answer he could offer – he had forgotten all about it. "I had…I've had other things on my mind…I…" It sounded lame and he knew it. "She hasn't been the same since you left her, and Hermione would have gone to the trial if you hadn't fucked her around!"

"I am not the only one to blame you arrogant little pissant. Oh, but of course it couldn't have anything to do with you, not the glorious Harry Potter! You had other things on your mind, no one else is allowed to be even remotely preoccupied with the manifold complexities of their own lives, but you can because you're the Famous Bloody Harry Potter!"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, his anger building, but before he could speak Dumbledore was on his feet and demanding silence from them both.

They continued to glare and then Harry opened his mouth.

"Oh for Merlin's sake shut up the both of you!" Minerva stepped between them and pushed Snape back from Harry. "You bickered your way through the war and you bickered your way through the trials and I for one am sick to death of hearing it! Now is not the time to be squabbling and appropriating blame. It's obvious that you both care for Hermione, so perhaps you should be concentrating on working out how to ensure her safety rather than fighting amongst yourselves."

Harry bowed his head and flushed lightly, "I'm sorry Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall."

Snape didn't say anything; he just returned his gaze to the fire place and nodded abruptly.

"But Harry is right," Dumbledore continued softly, "there must be a reason why Hermione did not attend the Wizengamot, and I believe that it would be best if you; both of you," he looked between the two of them, "were able to find out just what that reason may be."

******

By dinner time Draco found himself yawning uncontrollably and despite a hangover potion having disposed of his headache, nothing was going to keep him awake. He had decided that his school work was suffering earlier in the day and decided to forgo a nights drinking in favor of study. When the time came for him to head to the Library, he chose instead to make his way back to the tower, reasoning that if he could get two clear hours in which he could sleep he would be able to concentrate a hell of a lot better. It was more sleep than he'd had in a long time.

Once he had reached his room he found that the House Elves, having discovered a starving animal, had put down two bowls, one full of some kind of pureed meat and the other full of cream. There were also pages of old Daily Prophets scattered all over the floor – possibly the first time the paper had been used for anything good.

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust and scanned the floor for the kitten. He found its little tail sticking out from under the bead spread and he wrenched it out, causing it to give a little cry of fright.

"Well Mr. Kitty, you are making a mess." As an after thought he lifted it by the tail and checked, "Oh, sorry, Miss Kitty." He dumped the kitten on the bed and quickly picked up the newspapers. Balling them up he dumped them unceremoniously over the balcony and then he collapsed on the bed, almost crushing his new pet. He moved the small tabby bundle.

And then he needed the bathroom.

"Fucking hell." He struggled up from the bed, patted his kitten roughly and staggered into the hall.

The small hallway that lead from the Common Room to his bedchamber came out close to Hermione and Lavender's door and he heard their voices well before he could be seen in the Common Room. He groaned softly. He really didn't want to see either of them. Hermione had appeared nothing short of tense and sick over the last week, and Lavender kept giving him sickeningly concerned looks every time she saw him. He didn't want to be confronted by Hermione with that look on her face. The last time they had spoken they had fought and he was beginning to think that it was his fault she looked so bad. And he couldn't stand the fact that Lavender kept giving him those sympathetic glances.

Those horrible, "Poor Draco, Harry dumped him and now he's fucked because he doesn't want anyone else ever again" looks. He flattened himself against the wall and held his breath, hoping they would pass by the hallway door quickly.

"Are you okay?" Lavender was asking Hermione with that same concerned voice she used with Draco.

"Yeah," Hermione sounded a little out of breath, "I just can't believe how revolting this feels.

"Well, I read somewhere that you should be eating more or else you'll feel nauseous."

"I'm eating what I normally eat!" Hermione snapped, "I can hardly eat more than that."

"Well you'll have to carry biscuits around with you or something."

"Oh yeah, that would go down well, _"I'm sorry Professor, I have to sit here eating in your class because if I don't I am going to vomit."_ They would pick it in a second."

"Well," Lavender sounded perplexed, "maybe you should tell Professor McGonagall. She seems to really like you and you said she was pretty pissed off at Professor Snape. Maybe she could…smooth it out with the other teachers."

There was silence and Draco was fairly certain that Hermione was pulling her incredulous face.

"Well, it was just an idea!" Lavender had gone from perplexed to exasperated.

"If I tell Minerva she'll tell Severus. It doesn't matter how pissed off she is with him now; it's only a matter of time before they are speaking again. She has a real soft spot for him, and with something like this she would be on his door step and he'd know I was pregnant by the end of lunch."

Draco's mouth fell open. Hermione was pregnant? Pregnant with Snape's baby? A baby Snape? Oh Gods, a little Snape? That poor child!

"What about that potion?" Lavender was saying, the exasperation having faded and concern returning. Draco guessed that the Common Room must be empty because she was speaking at a normal level, and when Hermione replied she wasn't whispering either.

"The Apothecary won't sell it without a script from Madam Pomfrey or a Healer registered with St Mungo's. There is no way I am going to Madam Pomfrey to ask for a script and a trip to St Mungo's isn't really plausible at the moment…" Hermione paused, as though she was thinking. She didn't sound certain of what she was talking about at all.

"Maybe," Lavender suggested hesitantly, "maybe you don't want to get rid of it."

"Nonsense," Hermione scorned, but the uncertainty still resonated through her tone, Draco guessed that she would be chewing her lip right now, "I figure there has to be a recipe in the Restricted Section of the library. I'd say an abortion potion would be fairly rudimentary, and I'm sure I could make it."

Lavender said something in reply, something uncertain, but Draco didn't hear it. The girls were leaving the Common Room, and it sounded like they were heading to their bedroom. Draco himself was still recovering from the shock of his discovery. Hermione was pregnant. Pregnant with Snape's baby – and she was going to abort it – and Snape knew nothing about it. A large part of Draco filled with indignance. He knew Snape well enough to know that his interest in parenthood was fairly limited – to nothing at all – but it was his child and he might well want to know about it.

At the very least he could probably make the potion she wanted.

Draco had forgotten his full bladder and had turned back to his room, but somehow he didn't think he would get any sleep.

******  
 _Continued…_


	45. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 2

**Chapter 18 – Part 2**

~ ~ ~  
Snape had waited a while before deciding to speak with Hermione. He figured Potter would probably get to her first and he would simply go in to reiterate the point. Then he had found Potter in the Library and discovered that he'd had the same thought; in reverse, and that he had been waiting for Snape.

And so it was late when Snape swept imperiously through the eighth years' Common Room, displaying the same sense of superiority that he exhibited when inspecting a first year's spluttering cauldron. He had to admit that he didn't particularly feel superior tonight, but he could at least look the part. He even took some satisfaction in noting that Longbottom, who had come into his own during the war, still looked as though he would rather shit himself than be confronted by the Potions Master. At least some things didn't change.

He stopped outside her door and stared at it uncomfortably. He was going to have to knock fairly quickly, people were staring at him, but every instinct was telling him to turn and run.

 _Yep, you'd rather face Voldemort than the woman you left. Coward._

He knocked, hard enough to display his authority to the students sitting around the Common Room. He noticed Finnigan had a bottle of something that looked lethal and wished he could go over and take a draught. He heard a cheerful call of "hang on a tick" from inside and after a few moments and various rustlings, the door swung open and a scantily clad Lavender Brown looked up at him in horror.

"Professor Snape!" Lavender yelped and pulled her robe closed. It didn't really help, he towered over her and as he looked down he couldn't help but notice that he could see clear down the front of not only the robe but the negligee she wore under it.

"Do try and cover yourself a little more adequately, Miss Brown, I have no interest in your assets."

Lavender blushed and gripped the top of her robe closed. "Sorry, Professor Snape."

He purposely scowled and privately mourned the loss of what was quite a spectacular view. "I need to speak to Miss Granger."

"Oh…" Lavender turned to cast a glance into the room and then looked back to him, "I don't…she's not…"

He pushed roughly past her, almost knocking her down and insinuated himself into the room. Lavender could do nothing back stand back and stare open mouthed and then slowly close the door behind him.

"I believe you should leave the room, Miss Brown."

Lavender turned to go, hoping that Seamus Finnigan wasn't drinking his home made grappa because she was barely dressed and he had decided she really wanted him.

"Don't go anywhere Lavender." Hermione was sitting on her bed with her Ancient Runes text book open, she didn't seem pleased to see him there. "Professor Snape has nothing to say to me that you can't hear."

Lavender stopped, caught between obeying Snape (who could put her on detention in a flash) and standing by Hermione who desperately needed support. She decided to risk Snape's displeasure and sat down at the dressing table.

Snape did not look happy at this turn of events; he flashed a warning look at Hermione who surprised him by smiling bitterly in return.

"Oh don't worry, _Severus,_ Lavender knows everything; she's known from the beginning."

"I know that," he snapped and glared at Lavender who squirmed a little, but didn't move. He couldn't quite believe that the vacuous Miss Brown knew all about his love life. He wondered why Hermione had befriended her; he had never thought much of the girl, she was pretty, sexy even, but her mind was nothing special. She was an average Witch, apparently very good at Divination (something he considered a joke of a discipline) and, Hermione assured him, had an excellent nose for scents. He didn't rightly care about any of these things. What he did care about was the fact that this girl knew all about his love life and he really didn't want her to.

Instead of admitting his discomfort he looked around the room and sneered at the mess that had enveloped the floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere, while ribbons and other assorted trinkets littered every available surface. The air was heavily perfumed with the scent Snape recognized as the one Lavender Brown usually doused herself in. He found it cloying. Lavender Brown was sexy; he decided, but she needed to use something lighter, more playful.

 _What the hell are you doing thinking about Lavender Brown's choice of perfume?_ He scowled again and brought his thoughts to the task at hand. He had been procrastinating long enough.

"You need to open a window in this room, or air it out, it stinks in here."

"I can't smell anything," Hermione replied, her tone flat and emotionless.

"That's because you lock yourself in here and refuse to leave."

"Why are you here, Severus?"

He cleared his throat. "Professor Dumbledore came to see me earlier, because he was concerned about you. It seems he spent his day in London at the Ministry, as there was a special sitting of the Wizengamot yesterday."

She stared blankly at him and he realized with no small amount of shock that she had no idea what he was talking about.

"It was Krum's trial," he prompted.

And Hermione suddenly paled, so white that her face resembled parchment, even her lips bleached out and for a moment he thought she would faint dead away – so much so that he moved towards her, anticipating catching her. Lavender was up out of her chair, thinking much the same as he was.

Hermione sank down onto her bed and tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry, so dry it hurt – and her stomach plummeted. "Oh, well…I…I see."

"Professor Dumbledore assures me that you were well aware of our laws stating that if you chose not to attend the trial, that Krum would be released."

"I…I did…I knew." She spoke automatically, but she felt paralyzed, like she was glued to the spot, sitting on her bed in her stupid Pooh Bear pajamas. He would come for her. She knew it. She blinked, but didn't dare stand lest she fall down.

"Why didn't you go?" he asked stiffly. "Didn't you want to see Krum go to prison for what he did to you?"

She thought fast, not willing to admit the truth to him. She could see Lavender standing behind him, looking at her with a confused expression, thinking the same thing that he was. Why hadn't she gone? What had possessed her? And the truth, as shameful as it was, was simple – she had forgotten all about it.

But she doubted Severus was going to accept that as a reason.

"I didn't want to see him," she said with false calm, "I'm happy for him to just go home, and I just want to put this behind me."

Snape stared at her with undisguised horror, shaking his head without even realizing that he was doing it, with all semblance of his composed Professor's role suddenly gone. "Hermione, that fucking shit almost killed you! What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't want to talk about this." She forced herself up from the bed, fuelling herself on a need not to appear weak in front of him.

"You _have_ to talk about this, Hermione! Do you have any idea what I did to Krum? He is not going to forget, and he is most certainly not going to crawl back to Bulgaria and let you live out your life!"

"I don't fucking care about what _you_ did to him," She cried shrilly, "what about what he did to _me_?"

"That's exactly the point, Hermione!" He grabbed her shoulders and had to resist the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. "When you arrived at the Manor you were naked, you were covered in blood and we thought you were going to die, so believe me, I know exactly what he did to you. How can you just let him go? Knowing what he is capable of, how can you just think he will leave you alone?"

"I don't!" She blinked; she didn't want to cry, not now, not in front of him. "I don't know what he is going to do, but I can't do this now…I can't go through this now!"

"Why not? You can't just ignore this."

"Just get out! Leave me alone!"

"No!"

She sagged a little under his grip and finally began to shake. "Please Severus," her voice caught in her throat, "please, I can't do this."

Behind him, Lavender lowered her gaze, she knew that she shouldn't be here to witness this and she was suddenly sure that he loved Hermione as much as she loved him. Lavender felt like shaking him, deciding that it was stupid for them to be apart.

Snape closed his eyes and loosened his fingers a little from around her shoulders. She looked up at him, her heart shaped face with its stubborn chin was solemn beneath the wild array of bushy curls. Her eyes were wide, the darkest chocolate brown and he saw in their depths an imploring fear that beckoned to something unidentified in him. Had he known himself a little better he would have known that he was the kind of man who would die for someone he loved. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, discover what was plaguing her. But his reasoning told him that to do so would be taking advantage of their attraction. To do so would be taking the foolish, weak willed, soft hearted option that he so longed to take.

"What happened?" He asked softly, "did you forget?"

She blushed and shook her head, but she bowed her head and once again blinked back tears. She couldn't look at him and lie; he was too good at that game.

"Then why? I would have taken you, you only had to ask." He frowned; she shouldn't have needed to ask him, he should have just taken her. He stroked her hair back, allowing his fingers to linger in her curls.

"You made it clear," she said and her body stiffened, "the last time we spoke. You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn't ask you anything, because every time I went to you, you sent me away."

He wondered if he had made her so hard, or had she always been hard and he'd only just noticed it. He touched his lips to her hair, allowing himself to be weak for a moment. Allowing himself to forget about Lavender Brown who was watching. Allowing himself to drown in Hermione, in her soft hair, in the scent of wild roses that surrounded her and seemed part of her skin. The scent was the same as the roses that climbed the walls of the Fenn in the spring and whose petals he had placed so lovingly in the perfume he had made for her at Christmas. Suddenly he wanted to be there with her, at the Fenn, in the sun. He wanted to show her the secret places that had made the darkness of his childhood bearable.

Her eyes were closed when she turned her face up to his; "kiss me," she whispered, his touch relaxing her, making her ache, but she still couldn't look at him.

He wanted to see her eyes, he lifted her chin. "Look at me."

Her lids slowly lifted and those eyes, so expressive and full of uncertainty and longing were revealed to him.

Snape read the overlying vulnerability in her gaze and knew he had to contain his baser impulses. He wanted to take her home with him. He wanted to make the Fenn his home – _their_ home. He wanted to give her everything and more.

But he couldn't, not with Krum still a shadow over them, not with Krum still able to hurt her.

He pressed his finger tips against her midriff and gently propelled her backwards, ignoring her murmured sound of despair.

"Don't worry about Krum," he said abruptly, coming back to himself, "I'll take care of it."

"Severus…"

He turned on his heel, catching Lavender's eye for a moment he nodded curttly before sweeping out of the room.

He always seemed to be doing that, leaving her. His frustration was acute. He might have battered down her door to get back in to her if he hadn't been so accustomed to suppressing his feelings. He walked away instead, tight and controlled, but painfully aware that he could not hold this attraction inside forever.

*******

"I already know why you're here," Hermione said as she opened the door to Harry, "Severus has already been to tell me how stupid I am."

"He didn't say you were stupid," Lavender interjected rationally, "actually he was really nice to you and if you ask me my opinion he was worried about you."

Hermione glared at her. "Well since no one is asking for your opinion you may as well keep it to yourself."

Lavender shrugged, unoffended at Hermione's tone. She figured she'd had worse this week. Since finding out she was pregnant Hermione's mood swings had become something Lavender realized she would be living with until they managed to abort the foetus.

Harry closed the door behind him and smiled grimly. "Well, I guess you're going to hate me because I'll probably ask all the same questions that he did."

Hermione sat on her bed insolently. "I don't know what to tell you."

"The truth might be a good start. What were you thinking? Why didn't you go to that trial?"

"You really want the truth?" Hermione sounded as though she was accusing him of something rather than defending her actions, "well the truth is simple, Harry, I forgot. There, happy now? I forgot about the fucking trial. I fucked up. Does that make you feel better?"

Harry stared at her incredulously. "You _forgot?"_

 _"YES, I FORGOT. I'M NOT PERFECT! I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT AND I FORGOT!"_

Harry stepped back swiftly. "What are you yelling at me for?"

"I'm sick of it! I'm sick of everyone thinking that I can't have any bloody flaws, like I can't make a mistake…"

"It's one hell of a mistake to make Hermione, I mean, you _forgot?_ "

"Yes Harry, I forgot, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shatter any illusions you may have had about me."

Harry looked to Lavender who shook her head as though to tell him that she'd tried to reason but had no luck. "If you would just calm down and listen to me you'd know that I'm not angry at you and I'm not accusing you of anything. I never had any illusions – or if I did they were shattered long ago. I just don't understand, I need you to help me understand how you forgot about it. What else could be more important than that?"

"Things have changed Harry. Things get put into a different perspective when there is so much more to contemplate."

"But Krum tried to rape you, and then he tried to kill you, Hermione!"

"And now he's gone! Viktor isn't a fool, Harry. He won't come back looking for me."

"And you're a fool if you think that's true!"

Hermione knew Harry was right but she didn't want to think about it, she couldn't or she would end up a screaming, dribbling nutter. "I don't know what to say Harry, I can't explain it to you any more than I can't explain to myself."

"Is it this thing with Snape? Has he got you so all consumed that you can't think straight?" Harry could scarce believe that. Could Snape be such brilliant company, could he be such a fantastic lover that losing him had blinded her to all else?

"This has nothing to do with Severus," Hermione snapped. It wasn't entirely true; the baby was his. And now that she had seen him again the idea of ridding herself of the child seemed absurd, bringing the nagging doubts that plagued her to the surface.

"Then tell me why. Were you afraid to go alone? I would have gone with you, Lavender would have gone, hell if you'd asked him, Draco probably would have gone with you!"

"No Harry, it's nothing like that. What I told you is true, I just forgot about it. Pathetic as it sounds."

Harry finally fell silent. He too had forgotten, so all consumed in his own problems that he had not a thought for her. But what of her other friends? What about Lavender, she knew about the trial and she had said nothing, Snape had not remembered, neither had McGonagall or Draco – although he may have, Harry didn't know where his loyalty was at the moment. How could all of them forgotten? The Wizarding world had been strangely silent on the subject. The Daily Prophet, who thrived on gossip, had reported nothing about the former Seeker's fall from grace, and save for the initial letter, Hermione had received nothing that Harry knew of. No reminders, no reassurances, nothing.

Why had the Ministry not said more?

"They wanted to cover it up," Harry muttered aloud.

"What?" Lavender looked at Harry. "Who wanted to cover it up?"

"The Ministry," Harry replied, convinced he was right. "That's the only way this could have happened. There must have been a charm on the letter…something…because one person forgetting I can understand, but all of us?"

"Why would the Ministry want to cover it up?" Hermione reasoned, coming to herself a little now that there was another theory – other than her own stupidity – being put forward. "What would the Ministry owe Krum? Why would they help him?"

"I don't know…" Harry frowned, "but Fudge has always hated us, and maybe this was his last ditch effort at hurting us."

"But he's the Minister of Magic!"

"Not for much longer, and he knows it and he has always blamed me. He knows the best way to hurt me is through my friends."

"That's a pretty scandalous theory," Lavender suggested.

"But it's still a reasonable theory, Lavender." Harry concluded, "I wouldn't put anything past Fudge – or Krum."

Hermione closed her eyes and lay back on the bed; "Do you remember what it was like when we first got here? I was so excited, because I was going to school to learn how to use magic. I thought I was so special. None of my friends from home would be doing that. They would all be going on to a normal Muggle school and I was going to a special place. Then I met you and you were so special…the most special of all the Wizards. It seemed that for so many people time had stood still while they waited for you to reach an age that you could be brought back into our world – and I was one of the privileged ones who got to be your friend. One of your best friends. I never felt good enough. I always thought I had to prove myself worthy."

Harry looked at her as though she was mad. "But why, Hermione? I was nothing special. You only had to know me for two minutes to work that out…and I'm pretty thick when you think about it. If it wasn't for you and Ron I would never had gotten through half the shit I got myself into."

"That's not true, Harry, you're smarter than you think. I was always good with books. If it could be _learned_ I could do it, but I have no instinct. I always thought I was so clever…I thought _we_ were so clever. We spent the entire of our school lives trying to foil plot after plot, looking for adventures and getting into trouble. We planned to fight Voldemort. We did and we won. The world was going to love us and thank us and all would be well for the rest of our lives. But there was a huge flaw in that plan. We spent so long fighting and planning that we forgot to learn how to live for the rest of our lives…and lets face it, the three of us have made a huge mess of things so far."

"No…" Harry faltered, "That's not true…we…"

"Look at us Harry. Ron is in the hospital and it looks as though he is going to be taking some kind of drug for a very long time, he screwed his sister-in-law; who got him addicted to drugs, alienated all his friends and you found him in a pool of his own blood the day after Valentine's Day. Then there's you. You hide your sexuality even from yourself and then when it does surface you go for someone you had always considered your enemy and you get him, that's the amazing thing, you actually get him and he falls for you, hard and then – just after you have managed to deconstruct him to the point where he is helpless without you – you dump him!"

"There is a reason for that, he…"

"I know what he did!" She sat up, frustrated with him, "You told me what he did, you told me a dozen times, but it doesn't matter what he did!"

"Yes it does," Harry insisted, "it matters!"

"But Harry that's what you can't see. The world isn't black and white, you have never been able to see that. Yes, he did the wrong thing, but you refuse to look past what he did and ask why he did it."

"He said she had information…" Harry stopped and snorted impatiently. Hermione and Ron seemed to be on the same rant, neither of them appreciated his position. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about Draco right now."

"Of course you don't, because if you did you would be forced to admit that there were shades of grey in the world. The war didn't end and leave us all in this wonderful world. The war ended and we had to learn the basics of living and we screwed it up - badly."

"We're eighteen Hermione, we are supposed to screw it up! We have time to screw it up!"

"I don't!" she cried, "I don't have time to continually screw my life up, I have to sort my life out now!"

"It'll be alright Hermione, we'll take care of Krum…"

"Oh screw Viktor, I'm not talking about Viktor!"

"Then what?" Harry stared at her, confused beyond belief now. "Why are you in such a rush to grow up?"

"Because I have to be a grown up so that my child has someone responsible in its life!"

"What?"

Hermione but down hard on her lip and looked away from him. She couldn't believe she'd just blurted it out like that, without thinking. 'She Who Thought Over Everything' had just done the very same thing she always accused Harry of doing.

"Child? What child?" Harry looked to Lavender who was looking as though she wanted to slip out the door. "What child? Do you know anything about this, Lavender?"

"I…" Lavender desperately tried to communicate something unsaid to Hermione and gave Harry a helpless shrug.

"What's going on?"

"I'm pregnant, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "So as you can see, I have to get myself together now, and I really don't have time to screw things up."

Lavender was looking confused now, "but what about the potion? You said you wanted to get rid of it."

Harry's eyes widened. "You're going to abort it?"

Hermione felt her cheeks burn, "I…" she smiled at Lavender in an attempt at reassurance, "you were right Lav, I don't want to get rid of it, I just don't think it's in me to do it."

For some reason both Harry and Lavender felt relieved, but with relief came a dozen more questions.

"Does he know?" Harry asked.

"No, he doesn't need to," Hermione answered, her voice hardening with her resolve.

"But why not?" Harry reasoned, "It's his child after all, and he could help you."

"Help me how? Demand that I get rid of it? Or do you think he'll hear that I'm pregnant and come rushing back to me, to stay with me because of his sense of duty until he learned to hate us?"

"You don't know that he'd do that. Actually, I was thinking that he could help you financially."

Hermione nodded, Harry was right. She could hardly expect Harry to support her. "I guess I'll have to move in with my parents."

"Why? I thought you were going to live with Ron and I."

"I didn't think you'd want me to…not now…"

"I'd rather you live with us and be able to raise the child as a Wizard than be stuck in the Muggle world, and besides," Harry gave a wry smile, "I'd get to be cool Uncle Harry."

"So you and Ron and I, together again," she smiled and chuckled softly. "I wonder if we'll be happy, or will we all turn out to be morbid bastards."

"I'm sure we'll be happy."

Hermione knew she shouldn't ask it, but she couldn't stop herself; "and what about Draco?"

Harry tensed, "Draco will go back to his Manor."

"And then what? Do you think he'll stay there and mourn for you?"

"No, he'll get on with his life; that's the way it should be."

"And how will you feel? How will you feel when the Daily Prophet reports that he's met a girl, that he's getting married, or reports when his children are born? Will you be happy then?"

Harry blinked and turned towards the door. "It's late," he murmured, "I need to get some sleep."

"You didn't answer my question."

"There is no answer," Harry said quietly, "I'll deal with it when it happens, that's all I can say." He made for the door to leave, and this time Hermione didn't stop him.

After seeing Hermione, the first impulse in Snape's brain was to find Krum. Regardless of his promise to Dumbledore he wanted to seek Krum out and take care of him once and for all. Yet another part of him knew that he could not go back on his word, and his place was at school, where Hermione was safe. He could not leave her alone and unprotected, and he had no idea what kind of resources Krum had at his disposal, or just how cunning he could get. He had always considered the Bulgarian to be stupid, but in Snape's experience, even the most stupid of people could be cunning when they wanted revenge.

And Snape had known men like Krum his entire life. He would want revenge.

So without the ability to go after the man, Snape's only option was to protect the castle itself. Not that Hogwarts needed protecting as such. It's wards just needed refining against a single person. And so at three-thirty in the morning, working in the pouring rain, Snape was finishing the casting of a protective circle that encompassed the entire castle grounds. He had been working on the circle for hours, not really noticing the rain as he continued in his progress, laying the sigils and burying a multitude of talisman until there was no part of the circle left unprotected.

If Krum so much as set foot on castle grounds Snape would know about it. Each of the talismans contained a variation of the Proteus Charm. If Krum passed over the circle the charm would trigger instantly. Snape's first instinct was to attach the charm to a pendant around his neck, and allow him something that would heat and throb, alerting him no matter the time. But pendants failed and he may not notice it, so he took a leaf from the Dark Lord's book and burned the charm into the flesh of his inner arm.

He finished burying the last Talisman and began the incantation to invoke the protective charm.

"Ninok, matesh vey nok ta velina to nok." He sighed. He hated incantations. It struck him as ridiculous that the death curse, with sheer will and malice behind it should be two simple words and reasonably easy to perform, but a protection charm was a notoriously difficult incantation in a language he considered close to gibberish.

He touched the earth with the tip of his wand and muttered the Proteus charm and the flesh of his inner arm seared hot for a moment and faded. The burn was a miniature map, crude and rudimentary but a reasonable representation of the Hogwarts grounds. If Krum crossed the circle it would burn red in the area he crossed.

Snape touched the earth again, just to make sure it was working and the flesh burned hot again. He swayed for a moment, registering for the first time that it was raining hard, and that he was soaking wet and cold.

She had seemed so vulnerable tonight. After the temper and bravado had faded he had been able to see her for as fragile as she was. She had been scared. He was certain that she had forgotten the Wizengamot but he could not comprehend how that was possible. Krum had almost raped and killed her. How could she have forgotten something as monumental as that? But then, he had been so preoccupied himself that he had forgotten the trial as well – and that was unforgivable.

Somehow, he always seemed infinitely capable of failing those he loved.

And then tonight, when he had to be strong, when holding on to every shred of decorum he possessed would ensure that she knew she'd be safe, he'd almost folded completely. She had just washed her hair. It was frizzing and smelled like roses. He loved it that way.

The feeling returned. The one where he wanted to take her away, take her home to the Fenn and live happily ever after. For a moment he let the fantasy unfold. He didn't have to live at the school. Many of the Professors' had husbands or wives, they lived elsewhere and had lives of their own. He could do that. He could be something other than Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.

He shook his head and disposed of the fantasy residing there. She was young and had a lifetime ahead of her. No matter what her desire was now, there was no guarantee it would last. She would tire of him and his endless moods and she would leave; or she could be like his mother and stay. She'd learn to hate him after a while. It would be better to stay in the shadows of her existence and keep her safe so that she could enjoy her life.

He looked back at the castle wall and decided to do another circle, just for good measure.

Harry sank down onto his bed and let his head fall into his hands. Hermione was right, they really had managed to screw up. He wondered if she would sleep or would she lie awake worrying about Krum or her unborn child?

Snape's child, created from his seed. Harry wondered just what could be inherited. Would the child be unfortunate enough to be burdened with Snape's looks, skin or hair? Could temperament be inherited, or could Harry Ron and Hermione create a happy enough home to banish Snape's severity from the child altogether? Harry did not know what had made Snape the man he was. Had it been the result of cruel parents or relentless teasing at school (most it by James Potter and Sirius Black), or was his sourness and anger something deeper, some kind of flaw in the Snape family gene pool that caused him to be the way he was?

They were all ill prepared to raise a child, and they could scarcely cope with their own lives let alone take charge of another. And so many problems still hung over their heads; Viktor Krum for one. What would he do if he found out she had a child? Would he see in the child another way to hurt her?

Harry lifted his head. He had to deal with Krum before the baby came, before Hermione had time to really think about it and worry. He opened his bedside draw and rummaged through it until he found the folded tatty old Marauders Map. He hadn't used it for a long time, not since October. It was more something of sentimental value now rather than something he used. He barely had a chance to look at it. Now that the war was over he had no reason to look for people or sneak here and there.

He could use it now however and he pulled it out of the draw and opened it up. He knew a charm he could use. Something to detect Krum.

As he opened it a picture fell into his lap. Harry smiled at it, knowing that it was Draco. Taken at Christmas, Draco was dressed in his silk pajamas and looking disheveled. Harry had taken it using the camera Draco had given him for Christmas. He remembered the moment well, as they'd just made love and Draco had pulled on the pajamas in a hurry because Harry was trying to get a picture of him naked. Harry could even recall the way he smelled that morning, a mix of clean sweat and sex.

Harry ran his fingers over the surface of the picture and smiled again as Draco smiled back.

Hermione's words came back to haunt him. How would he feel when Draco moved on with his life? How would he handle the idea of Draco getting married or having children or something like that? Could he be happy knowing these things? Could he move on himself? Could he derive pleasure from a body that was not Draco's? Something inside him didn't want to know the answer to those questions. He knew that he had to learn to love someone else, someone more suitable, someone more like him.

But there wasn't anyone else like him. Draco was like him, more than Harry liked to admit. Something deep inside Harry recognized it and told him that Draco was the only one.

Which was really very stupid when he thought about it. How could he be so convinced that it had been love? They'd had sex and decided that they loved each other. It was foolish.

But it was love…it was still love. Harry couldn't explain how it had happened any more than he could explain Hermione's attraction to Snape. It was just something that had happened, something inside them both. And now that something inside him was hurting him.

People broke up every day and they got over it – and thinking that gave Harry cold comfort. He sighed and placed the photograph on the table lovingly, turning his attention back to the map.

Fully opened, the map would almost cover the wall, but to see the entire boundary of the castle the map needed to be opened. The charm he could think of was a simple one, if Krum tried to cross the school boundaries his name would glow bright red. Harry wasn't entirely sure what he could do about the daylight hours, and he could hardly carry the map around and look at it all day. Harry was almost certain that if Krum came near the castle, he would do so in the dead of night. During the day the school was crawling with Professors and students, and far too many of them would do anything they could to help Hermione. At night she was unprotected. While Harry had no doubt that Lavender was a competent Witch, he didn't trust her to be able to defend Hermione if Krum got up there and attacked her – and such an event would probably put Lavender in danger as well.

Harry would watch the map all night if he had to. He could keep Hermione safe and she wouldn't even know about it. During the day Harry could watch her during his classes. He would put aside his differences with Draco and ask him to look after her in those classes that they had together without Harry.

He cast a look to the photograph lying on the table and inextricably felt horny. He bit his lip. Don't even think about it.

What? Just because I dumped him I'm not allowed to wank over him?

Harry couldn't help it. He smiled and lay back, unzipping his trousers as he did so. He wondered if there was any oil in the drawer, because it was always so much better with oil.

*******  
Lucius could well remember the moment that he had become aware of himself. He was in Azkaban, in darkness, and feeding on something. He could only think of it as feeding, because eating had a different connotation entirely. Eating was something one did by choice, feeding was a necessity. And he was feeding. Feeding on something that was possibly his cell mate. Feeding his body so that he didn't starve to death. It was a primal urge, something so base that his body simply responded. And in the middle of this primeval feed he had thought; 'so it didn't work, the Dementor won.'

And then he realized that he had thought something independent of simple need. For a moment he mentally rejoiced.

Mentally rejoiced. But not physically. He had not expected that problem. When he had invoked the charm he had expected some ability to help himself. But his body; something he had always taken great pride in, was useless.

The Angel, used to shield his soul, had managed to protect his essence, but his body; it seemed, was out of the Angel's power. The celestial being had fought hard to get out. So hard that Lucius had believed it would tear his fragile body apart, opening him up and leaving behind a shredded husk while it ascended back to its own realm.

But the charm worked well, and the Angel was trapped, destined to protect him and not destroy the fabric of his being. But it reeked merry havoc in its immovable host.

Lucius had come a long way since those early moments. His mind was now ever active and with nothing left to do but think, his mental abilities had become nothing short of amazing. Things that he had once thought impossible and best left to the realm of fantasy now seemed nothing to him. He could communicate mentally, whole conversations with a voice he could impose easily into the head of anyone receptive enough to listen. And he could travel. Travel any distance. The spirit he had worked so hard to protect was able to wander at will, transcending any distance and seeking out those he wished to see again.

But to his frustration he could only speak to those he visited in their dreams, and inevitably they would wake up and forget that he'd been.

Shock or terror seemed to force him to the surface of his bodily prison. He had; on occasion, become himself again, for the briefest of moments. He had learned this lesson the hard way. He had been removed from Azkaban, still confused as to his situation, placed in a box and taken to the Museum for Magical Arts and Antiquities. A man had then removed him from the box, stared at him as though he were made of pure gold, and called him 'his Angel'. He had bathed him, brushed his hair and clothed him lovingly. The sensation had been almost pleasant.

And then the man had raped him so suddenly and so violently that Lucius had torn out a shank of his own hair.

Not that the Curator had noticed.

Now, all of the work he had done on his mind, everything he had learned, was going to end. The Angel was dying. He could feel it inside. Rolling and squirming and aching inside him, and once the Angel died so too would Lucius. He would pass onto whatever came next. He could not stop it. He could tell Non how to break the charm well enough and if it had been a mere trifle for Severus Snape to come and perform a simple ceremony or administer a potion, he would have done it in a second. But it wasn't. He required Draco to be there, and anything that brought Draco to the Museum was out of the question.

He knew his son well. He knew that Draco would do anything to save him and he also knew just how headstrong the boy could be. He would ignore dangers that he really should heed. And so the only answer was to give him nothing; no information, in an attempt to make him believe that it was all for nothing. He stopped talking to Non unless he truly had to. He'd gotten his message to Snape; 'don't save me,' and 'keep Draco away'. Beyond that there was nothing else to say.

Death would come soon enough. Lucius could feel the Angel dying, and it was only a matter of weeks until it was all finished with. Months perhaps, if he was unlucky. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was going to die and not fearing it.

He had once been terrified of dying. As a child his stomach would tie itself into knots at the prospect of death. He had gone to the funeral of an uncle and he remembered his mother listing who she'd want at her funeral. He'd told her that he would want his mother at his – and she had laughed and said, "Silly boy, I'll be dead long before that." He hadn't eaten for a week, so great was his distress. He could simply not fathom not existing, not breathing – not being. He had been taught as part of their religion that his soul would return to the Summer lands after death and prepare itself for its next incarnation. But he could not remember a previous existence and if he could not remember a previous existence, what guarantee did he have that he would remember this one? So, it stood to reason that if he could not remember this one then he would lose that undeniable sense of self, and without that sense of self, what use was reincarnation? And what if he came back as a 'Muggle'?

But now he knew. There were worse fates than death, and at that moment he was living one of them.

Archibald Semeuse. If a more fitting punishment had been available Lucius could not think of it. Here, embodied in the form of this man, was a torture befitting Lord Voldemort himself – except that Voldemort was not that sick – and that was saying something. And the Ministry, who thought delivering him to the Dementors' was the worst they could do, had unwittingly served him up to the most frightening man Lucius could ever conceive of.

Archibald Semeuse. Who would ever admit to having spawned such a man?

It was a measure of just how long he had been this mans puppet by the fact that his body no longer resisted Semeuse. The Angel lay dormant, not trying to push the old man away and displeasing him beyond measure. Semeuse liked the resistance, because he liked to know that he was causing pain. Lucius had trained himself to hold on, to move heavy limbs and make appropriate noises until Semeuse came to orgasm and pulled out of the passive body beneath him.

It was not as though Lucius was a stranger to this kind of lovemaking. He'd had male lovers in the past and he had chosen them with more affection that he had selected his mistresses. They would kiss, work each others' body up until the sex was inevitable and then when it happened, it was always wonderful. He had no preference for top or bottom. He'd done both. Severus had a problem with being underneath him, which had surprised him at the time, but the greatest surprise with that evening was that Severus took control with remarkable ease – so much for the kid he'd picked on.

But fucking Severus was neither here or there. Archibald Semeuse was a different matter entirely. Semeuse had no interest in foreplay, either that or he'd never heard of it which was possibly more frightening. Semeuse seemed to enjoy tearing into an unwilling body, and he obviously enjoyed making him bleed. He liked to hear him cry. He liked to cause as much pain and terror as he possibly could.

Far more than the sex, Lucius hated what came after. He hated the way Semeuse touched him gently, kissed him and whispered loving words to him as though they were meant to be. He hated the way Semeuse refused to use magic to clean him, instead using his hands to wipe away the come and shit and whatever else deemed fit to run out of him. He hated how Semeuse would pull him close and sleep beside him – like a lover.

Lucius had never spent the entire night with anyone other than Narcissa. Occasionally – very occasionally – there would be a third in their bed, but he could only sleep beside her. With Semeuse there, Lucius found that he would dream that he was at home and that the person beside him was his wife. And the travesty was all the worse when he woke to find himself curled snuggly into the Curator's arms.

It was no wonder that he no longer feared death. Even if nothing came after, anything was better than this.

But for as much as he did not fear the hereafter there was one thing that terrified him beyond measure. When he died (and it would be soon) would Semeuse seek to replace him? So far he had managed to keep Semeuse in his thrall and despite the occasional comment he had kept the Curator's gaze from Draco. But if he was dead, would Semeuse automatically seek Draco out?

And now that Potter had abandoned his son, Lucius could feel his fear growing steadily stronger. Draco was his own worst enemy, leaving the castle night after night to drink himself into oblivion, thus leaving himself vulnerable.

"He needs something to keep him there," Lucius had reasoned and so he'd had Non place a guarantee in Draco's path. Lucius had found the kitten in a drainpipe not far from the Museum. He'd sent Non across the rooftops to retrieve the animal and then had him 'borrow' the Curator's wand to place a charm Lucius taught him on the scruffy looking thing. Once charmed the kitten was positively irresistible.

And more importantly it would beg for care. Lucius doubted that Draco would leave the castle at night ever again.

"Are you still with me, Lucius?"

Lucius came back from his mental wanderings and focused on the Curator.

"Where did you go to my Angel?"

"Nowhere, I'm just a little tired." It was a lie, but he forced the feeling of a smile into the Curator's heart, and he was getting very good at it.

"You're so beautiful my Angel, so beautiful. You'll be able to sleep soon."

Somewhere inside him, apart the Curator's abuse, he felt a pain shoot through him. The Angel was not going to go quietly.

*******

 _Continued…_


	46. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 3

**Chapter 18 - Part 3**

~ ~ ~

Hermione burst into Harry's room without knocking and ignored the resounding screech and scrambling for bedclothes from the room's single occupant.

"Put your clothes on Harry," she said briskly, sounding just like her old self and sitting on the edge of his bed, "I've been thinking."

"How much did you see?" Harry cried, his voice unnaturally high as he tucked blankets around himself.

"See? Oh, everything. Nice cock. Now, I've been thinking about this whole thing with Draco."

"You can't just burst in without knocking!"

"Oh for Gods sake, Harry, it doesn't matter what I saw, you're gay!"

"So? You're not! And I don't want you to see me doing…"

"Having a wank? Harry, I don't care what you do…now about Draco…"

"I don't walk in on you when you're masturbating!"

"Would you calm down and listen to me?"

Harry's cheeks were blazing fiercely; "alright…what were you thinking about?"

"Draco," Hermione paused for effect, "and the whole _'torturing Muggles'_ thing."

Harry pursed his lips and said nothing. He didn't stop her however, because he was interested. He just didn't want her to think he was desperate to hear her.

"Now, you never met Regina but I did and I'm telling you, I wanted to beat her to death with her own limbs and I have way more patience than Draco - so I'm amazed he didn't kill her…" she caught Harry's look and rolled her eyes. "Anyway, when I confronted Severus about her he wouldn't tell me anything, but he did let slip that she had something to do with Lucius Malfoy. You said that Draco had tried to justify what he'd done by saying that she had information about his father. So, I got to thinking about the whole thing and I remembered that I was reading Lucius Malfoy's journal on Valentine's Day and …"

"Whoa, back up a bit, _Lucius Malfoy's journal_?"

"Yes, well you see, that's the thing, after everything with Ron I put it out of my mind, then after you left tonight I started to think about it." For the briefest of moments a frown crossed her face, as she'd started to think about anything she could to take her mind off her own problems, and focusing on Harry made her feel better. It was almost as though she could get back some control over something. "What I read was an incantation, a protection spell against the Dementors Kiss."

"But you can't protect yourself from the Dementors Kiss, they suck your soul out, that's how they feed. People saw it happen, Hermione."

"I know…but I really think that he's done something. I mean, Severus has his nose in that book all the time…"

"Must be a big book."

She glared at him witheringly. "And why would Draco risk everything by doing what he did to Regina if there wasn't a chance he could help his father?"

"Whatever you think Lucius Malfoy's done Hermione, it can't have worked. I haven't been to the exhibition but I've spoken to plenty of people who have – and I saw the picture in the Daily Prophet. He's not there, it's just his body. Ron said he was like a big doll."

"I know, but what if it did work?"

"But it can't have."

"But what if it did?"

"I'm not following you, Hermione. How can you think it worked?"

"Well, what if he's stuck? What if he's in there but his body isn't working…like his body is a coffin and he's alive inside it?"

Harry felt a little sick. Lucius Malfoy. It all came back to him in the end. "You think he's aware of what's going on around him?"

"Yes!" Hermione sounded excited, far more excited than Harry felt. "And I think Severus and Draco know it. I also think this woman; Regina, knows how he did it and how to set him free – or at least Severus and Draco think she does."

"And she wouldn't tell him unless he had sex with her," Harry said quietly.

Hermione nodded, still excited. "And he didn't want to cheat on you, so he used Crucio instead to try and make her talk."

Harry grimaced, because it was kind of romantic in a twisted sort of way. But it was still wrong, still unforgivable. "He has no fucking idea of right from wrong," Harry muttered viciously.

"He thought he was doing the right thing by you," Hermione reasoned. "He loved you, he still does…" she caught Harry's look. "But that's beyond the point. So, I was thinking about Lucius Malfoy and about the possibility that I'm right and that lead me to think that maybe…well; more than maybe, I'm pretty sure that they are going to try and set him free."

 _"What?"_

"Severus and Draco are going to try and free Lucius Malfoy."

The sick feeling in Harry's stomach worsened a little. "They can't do that! Hermione, we can't let them do that."

"Well, we'll have to stop them then, won't we?"

"We could go to Dumbledore," Harry said, almost to himself. "He'll know what to do…" Harry looked at Hermione, his features troubled. "But Draco would probably get into severe trouble." _And he'll hate me for it._

"So will Severus," Hermione replied.

"Yeah, him too. But we can't let them free Malfoy, so we have no choice."

"We could stop them ourselves."

"How?" Harry asked plainly. "How are we going to stop them? I don't want to be the one who confronts them with it…Draco would probably hex me if I tried to stop him. The one thing I did learn when I was with him was that no one can so much as criticize his father without him going off."

Hermione smiled evilly, "I know, but I really think they'll have problems doing it without this." She reached into her robes and pulled a leather bound book from her pocket.

Harry almost laughed, and he couldn't quite believe it. "You _stole_ Lucius Malfoy's journal?"

"I think _stole_ is a little harsh, _confiscated_ is a much better term."

"How? How did you get it?"

Hermione waved her hand as though to brush off his amazement. "Severus hasn't changed the password to his door for years I'd say. I just waited for him to leave his room and in I went." She handed the book to Harry, "I thought it might make good bedtime reading."

Harry stared at the journal in his hands. If there was one person he really didn't want to uncover it was Lucius Malfoy. Harry would have happily gone to his grave not thinking that there was any other side to the man than that of an evil prick, but the more Harry learned, the more he realized that Lucius Malfoy was not entirely the monster he had been made out to be. And now here was the man's life, laid out in a book for Harry to read.

He didn't want to read it. He didn't know what Lucius Malfoy would have to write about. Memoirs of a Death Eater?

"What the hell would he have in here that I'd be interested in?" Harry scowled, trying to convince himself that there was nothing in that book for him.

The journal seemed to jump from his hands and landed on the bedclothes, its pages flying open. Before Harry could pick it up again the pages began to turn, going faster and faster until Harry couldn't make them out any more. Occasionally they would stop for a split second giving Harry a tantalizing glimpse of words before starting up again.

And then it began spitting photographs out at him, hitting him in the face, stinging his skin as each picture fell into his lap, causing the pile to quickly grow. All Draco, every one of them. Draco at birth, Draco at one, Draco in the bath, Draco's first solids, Draco's first steps, Draco playing in the garden, Draco bawling into his father's shoulder. They kept coming and Harry was shaking his head, accepting that the book had well proved its point and he pushed the pictures away, crying out for it to stop.

And it did stop. The book fell still, open to a passage that begged to be read. Harry ran his fingers down the pages, over the ornate handwriting and the words that could possibly tell Harry something that might foil his resolve to stay away from Draco.

"Are you going to read it?" Hermione asked.

"No…" Harry drew and unsteady breath, "I don't know if I want to read anything that Lucius Malfoy wrote."

Hermione looked surprised, and she personally thought Harry was mad, because she would have loved to start reading that book. If he had found an incantation to protect himself from the Dementors Kiss then he was nothing short of genius, and she could only imagine what other gems the book held. She also knew that Severus was close to Lucius, and so she was sure there was something about Severus in there, some hidden tidbit that might thrill her to read.

She looked at Harry and they both looked back down to the book.

"Well," Harry said reluctantly, "maybe it will be good bedtime reading."

Hermione grinned triumphantly. "Move over, I'm staying the night."

Harry hesitated and then shuffled over in the bed. Hermione took off her robes to reveal her pajamas underneath and she went to lift the blankets.

"Um, 'Mione?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you pass me my boxers before you get in?"

Hermione laughed. It felt good to stop worrying, if only for the night.

*******  
Morning came too fast and Hermione opened her eyes and immediately frowned. The room was still dark, but she could see a faint light filtering through the window. It was morning and she wasn't alone. A heavy arm draped over her waist and curled around her back was a warm body, breathing evenly, moving her own body by the steady rise and fall of a hard chest.

For a moment she was disorientated. The arm over her was solid and muscular. Younger than Severus. It took her almost a minute to realize that it was Harry.

And then suddenly her stomach rolled and she sat up, a hot sweat racing up the back of her neck.

"Oh God," she sat up, pushing Harry's arm away and dry heaving.

Harry stirred, dislodging the journal that had been resting on his hip. The bed was covered in pictures and photographs, slips of paper and snippets of writing and poetry. Lucius Malfoy apparently kept everything that crossed his line of vision, including sweets wrappers and Draco's umbilical cord.

"Are you alright?" Harry sat up and ran his hand painfully through his tangled hair. He gently reached out to rub her back.

"I'm okay…I'm just a little sick. Apparently it's normal. I've been lucky until now. I haven't had much morning sickness…the last few days have been pretty awful though…and it's not just the mornings."

"Can I give you anything? I have some headache potion…but that won't stop you puking."

"No, I'm fine. Lavender says I should eat more. When her mother was pregnant she swore by eating."

Harry had nothing to eat in his room, which was pretty rare considering he made a weekly trip to Honeydukes to replenish his sweets supply.

"I'll be okay," Hermione repeated taking a few deep breaths, "It'll pass…I'm sure it will."

Harry began scooping up the contents of the journal. Despite his determination not to read it, he had given in to temptation and in the end, he'd been as fascinated by it as Hermione was. Lucius Malfoy had been given the journal on his fourteenth birthday and had been writing in it ever since. Everything from a detailed description of losing his virginity the same day he'd received the journal, through to a complaint about skinning his knees during Quidditch practice. It seemed as though nothing escaped his notice. Harry and Hermione had reached as far as Draco's birth and they had been reading most of the night. There was no way they would ever finish it.

They hadn't even come close to finding out what he had done to escape the Dementors Kiss and although Harry knew that they could ask the book and it may well show them the answer, he didn't think he wanted to know. He couldn't allow Draco and Snape to set Lucius Malfoy free, and reading this journal only made the man seem more human and more worthy of being saved. Harry couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand for him to be so human, or so ordinary. Lucius Malfoy was a convicted murderer of innocents. He was dangerous and he didn't deserve any mercy. While Harry couldn't agree with what the Curator was doing, he couldn't allow him to be released to do Merlin only knew what.

It would be best for the journal to be hidden away, out of reach of those who could do damage with it. It was best, for everyone's good.

*******  
Draco had stopped going out. He had no idea why. At least when he was going out he could take his mind off the fact that he was here, alone, with nothing and no one for company. Well, not entirely alone, he had Miss Kitty. The little kitten left a comforting pool of warmth right in the centre of his bed, but she was not that pleasurable tangle of limbs, that warm breath, that perfect rise and fall of a chest and she did not smell like _him._

He really should just leave. He would leave. He was Draco Malfoy for Merlin's sake, and he didn't need to finish school! He had only bothered coming back to Hogwarts because his house had been crawling with Aurors; they were long gone now, and the house was now empty. He knew that place well, and he was as safe there as he was at Hogwarts. He wanted to go home - he could go home. He had enough money to live a thousand extravagant lifetimes. He certainly didn't have to do anything as remotely mundane as work. He could just pack his bags, tuck Miss Kitty under his arm and leave.

Except he didn't leave. Despite Harry and Snape doing nothing to help him of late; despite everything, he stayed at Hogwarts. He knew why he was staying. It was all for Harry and he could feel just how pathetic he had become. Staying for Harry, someone who had not spoken to him in a month. Staying; pathetically, for someone who had been avoiding him at all costs.

He had contemplated going to Harry and trying to explain what had happened. Explain everything from the very beginning, omitting nothing and hoping that perhaps; if he knew the whole sordid story, Harry could possibly come to some kind of understanding about why Draco had treated Regina as he had.

Regina was gone and Snape wasn't saying anything about her. Snape had closed himself off from Draco as far as Lucius was concerned. It seemed that everyone that mattered in Draco's life had put up some kind of wall and he was on the cold side of it. He was long past wishing he was back at the point when he didn't care about anyone at all. He was fast reaching a point where he felt he was about to go insane from caring. It wasn't fair. He didn't want this emotion, he didn't want to constantly feel as though his world was caving in around him. Dear Gods he was beginning to understand how Weasley felt!

And so he had stopped going out and he stayed in his room smoking pot, drinking gin and stroking Miss Kitty absently. Oh, and he studied…and masturbated when he just couldn't stand not having Harry any longer.

"What should I do Miss Kitty?"

Miss Kitty lifted her fluffy head and looked at him through emerald eyes. She had amazing eyes, like Harry's eyes. He had begun to consider that perhaps she was not such a Muggle of a cat after all. She licked her back paw clumsily and fell onto her side.

"Stupid cat."

Miss Kitty looked up at him offended and then worked her way onto his lap.

"I should go home," he stroked her soft fur gently, "you'd like it there Miss Kitty. There's lots of rooms for you to run around in, and in the summer you can play in the garden. We get ducks on the pond and you could chase them. I used to love those ducks. When I was very little I used to chase them all over the lawn. My mother was constantly thinking that I'd fall in the pond and drown so she'd make my father run around after me. He used to pretend he couldn't catch me – and I never once fell in the pond."

Oh good grief, he was becoming sentimental. A sentimental drunk, was there anything worse?

"They wanted to have another child, so I'd have someone to play with, but they didn't…they couldn't…some stupid infection that St Mungo's couldn't fix. They didn't talk about it." He looked blankly at the wall and realised that he was incredibly stoned and more than a little drunk – he felt like crying. "I'm kind of glad they didn't have anyone else, I liked being the only one. I liked the attention." He paused, smoked a little more and took another drink. "They did love each other really. No one ever understood that. They had so many lovers and even the lovers never understood. The lovers were so far down the chain that the term lover was overrated, someone to fuck was probably more accurate, and they never lasted long. My parents always came home at night and despite having separate chambers, more often than not slept in the same bed. Sometimes I used to sit outside my father's door and listen to them. Sometimes they'd talk, sometimes they'd fight, sometimes they'd laugh and sometimes they'd make love."

He stopped. The urge to cry was suddenly overwhelming. He wished that he was 'that' child again, that he was his old self assured bastard self, with Crabbe and Goyle at his beck and call, and a powerful father whom everyone feared.

He wished it was Christmas and he was rushing down the hallway for presents. He wished it was Christmas and he was talking to them and the war hadn't happened. He wished it was Christmas and he was making love to Harry and Harry was coming and coming and coming.

"Harry isn't coming back is he?" Draco looked down at his cat sadly. "I really fucked that one up didn't I? I never told him anything. I never showed him any of the things he wanted to see. I kept everything of me from him, and now he hates me." He scratched the cat behind the ears and drank from his bottle. "I never keep anything from you, do I Miss Kitty?"

Miss Kitty managed a sleepy meow.

Draco knew he should go out. He just knew he should not be sitting alone in his room smoking pot, drinking gin and talking to a cat.

But for all the things he could have said and done, simply loving someone wasn't enough. He was supposed to share things too, share everything in his life, not just the bits he thought his lover should know. He wouldn't even give Harry the damn Pensieve when he'd asked for it. How hard would that have been? He could have purchased a Pensieve bowl easily enough; one could find them in Hogsmeade, if you knew where to look. But of course he hadn't. He hadn't given so much as an inch – and what should he care if Harry saw what had happened with Moody? Had it been so traumatic that he hadn't gotten through it? Of course not, he was here now wasn't he?

It was too late now. It was not as though he could just give Harry the stupid thing now. Even if he did, Harry probably wouldn't look at it anyway, and even if he did look inside it, none of it would make any difference at all. There was no point in giving it to him, none at all.

Except that Harry had really wanted it and there was no harm in giving him something he had really wanted, even if he didn't want it any more. Perhaps he should just give Harry the Pensieve, give it to him with no hope or agenda, just to give it to him because he'd wanted it. Even though he probably didn't want it now.

He put the gin down and stubbed out the joint. He'd sleep on it now, and then think about it tomorrow.

*******  
Snape frantically emptied the last of the drawers from the side table onto the floor and scrambled through the mess of contents. This one was a long shot and he knew it. This was his junk drawer, the one thing in his life that did not have to be well organized and contained perhaps a dozen old keys, a couple of broken dishes, old bottles of dried ink, something that could be a lethal poison, and a few battered looking photographs of the sullen teenager he had once been and – ugh – his parents wedding picture.

But no journal.

Where the hell was the damned journal? He needed it, quite aside from the fact that he still hadn't found out all of its secrets, all of his notes were tucked inside the book. Every scrap of information that he had managed to gather was tucked safely in the one place he thought was safe. He had almost worked it out, only one or two things needed to be deciphered and then he'd have the answer he was looking for. He knew what to do and he almost knew how to do it.

He really hadn't expected the journal to disappear. It wasn't here, not in this room. Which meant that someone had taken it.

Draco had sworn black and blue that he had not touched it and Snape believed him. Draco was good with potions but he certainly wasn't brilliant. Transfiguration was Draco's forte, and he wouldn't risk his father by attempting to concoct the potion himself. He also knew very little about what to look for, and he hadn't shared a great deal with Draco of late. Severus felt he needed to keep trying to hold true to Lucius' wishes.

But the loss of the journal had hit Draco hard. He was not in a good state as it was; the loss of his father's journal meant the loss of some kind of hope. Snape had silently cursed Potter for leaving Draco at such a time. Draco had always been strong – if not a little spiteful. At first it had been the result of his inbuilt conviction that he was perfectly superior to everyone else, but like his father his strength came out for all to see when he was at his lowest point. Snape had watched the child become a man seemingly overnight. From the moment Alistair Moody had poured acid over that healthy body to the point when Draco watched a Dementor swoop down on his father, Draco had held his head up and had overcome it. He had picked himself up and rebuilt his life.

So what did Potter have that the removal of it could cause such a state of depression? Was it simply that the failure of the first romantic relationship that actually meant something to him was the last straw and he could take no more? Or was it possible that Potter truly was the love of Draco's life and he honestly couldn't go on without him?

That idea was ridiculous and Snape refused to entertain it for more than a moment. Draco and Potter, it still seemed an abomination. It was surely nothing more than a foolish infatuation and Draco would get over it in time. He was just vulnerable at the moment that was all.

Snape stood up and kicked the mess on the floor ineffectually. Where was the bloody journal? Why would someone take it? What would anyone have to gain by taking it? Who could possibly be interested in the trivialities of Lucius Malfoy's life? That was all the journal was. Aside from the potion there was very little in there that could interest anyone who didn't know him. There were no great revelations about Voldemort or any Death Eaters that may have escaped the trials. Most of the journal was nothing more than the accumulation of random thoughts about anything that popped into Lucius' head. Everything from a rant about Florean Fortescue deciding to stop making Lucius' favorite flavor of ice cream, through to a rather interesting account of just what the Cruciatus curse felt like the first time the Dark Lord had performed it on him. But nothing that was going to be of use to anyone.

Perhaps, Snape thought blankly, he had just misplaced it and it would turn up somewhere.

There was a first time for everything.

*******  
"You'll be going home soon."

Ron looked at Pansy as she contemplated the chessboard. He'd finally found an opponent who could well and truly kick his arse. "Yes," he said quietly, "next week."

"Your mum will be really happy huh?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, she's been going on for ages about me going home…I haven't told her that I'm moving in with the others when school finishes though."

"Others?"

"Harry and Hermione."

"Oh." She fell silent, intent again on her chess pieces.

"Are you alright?"

She looked at him and blinked, "Me? Yes, I'm fine." She smiled and tried to be a little more cheerful. "Draco came by earlier," she said, "and he's not looking so good."

"Really?" Ron laughed, "when Harry came he wasn't looking so hot either. That was a few weeks ago though."

"People have a habit of avoiding this place," Pansy said, "can't really blame them I guess."

"No, can't blame them at all." Ron flinched as she took his knight. "Hermione came on the weekend though…beats my sister, she's been – once – I think."

Pansy looked more interested at this. "Draco told me something really weird about Hermione."

Ron's eyes narrowed, "What? What did he tell you?"

"That she's pregnant."

Hermione had told him that herself and he wondered who else knew about it. Hermione had also told him who the father was. He didn't want to believe it, because the very idea horrified him. Once upon a time he'd considered that the worst she could do was Draco – then Harry had ended up with Draco and Hermione…Hermione had been with that…thing. She had only come to tell Ron because she wanted to warn him that they would be living at Grimmauld Place and she wanted Ron to know it.

By his silence Pansy thought she had perhaps stepped over the line. She looked away and withdrew a little into herself.

"Yeah," Ron smiled and tried to catch her eye, "she's having a baby."

"Draco says that the father is…"

"Snape." Ron grimaced, and it almost physically hurt to say it.

Pansy's eyes widened. Unlike Ron she didn't consider Professor Snape such a bad catch. Then again, she had been raised to find a powerful Pureblood to marry and she did not consider the age gap such a terrible thing. She had also been a Slytherin and a good one, and he had never been particularly cruel to her. But still, Hermione Granger was a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor; she hadn't thought Snape would be attracted to such a girl.

"Can't believe it either eh?"

"I don't know," Pansy shrugged, "Professor Snape wasn't so bad. He was always nice to me."

"That's because you're a Slytherin – the rest of us saw what he was really like."

"You just didn't know his soft spots."

Ron laughed bitterly, "he has no soft spots!"

"Of course he does," Pansy reasoned, "everyone does."

"Alright then, name one."

Pansy thought about it for a moment. "Fizzing Wizzbees."

 _"Snape likes Fizzing Wizzbees?"_

"Oh yeah, anyone who brought them back from Hogsmeade for him got House Points."

 _"What?"_ Ron almost screeched with indignance. "Is that why you lot always had so many House Points? Do you know how hard everyone had to work to try and get those points?"

Pansy giggled and then almost rolled on the floor with laughter; "well I never said it was fair!"

Ron shook his head but he couldn't help but grin. She lit up when she laughed and such occurrences were few and far between. Something washed through his belly like the first pleasant waves of a drunk, the waves that made you grin like fool for no reason at all.

Under his scrutiny a blush came to her cheek and she looked down at the board. "Will you come and visit?"

It threw him, her tone suddenly being so serious. "Of course, of course I'll come and visit you."

She murmured to one of her pieces, moving it so that Ron was in check. She didn't look convinced. She'd meant it when she'd said that people had a habit of avoiding the ward. Her uncle; who was her legal guardian, had dropped her here after Christmas. It was April now and she hadn't seen him since. Draco tried to come fortnightly, but he was forgetting more often than not and used school as his excuse. She had no other visitors. Ron had a steady stream of family, but for his friends the novelty had fast worn off. Like Draco, they blamed school pressures, but Pansy knew that the truth was closer to the fact that the ward was depressing.

"I _will_ come," Ron said, reading her face, "I promise."

"You don't have to...I don't expect you to."

"But I'll come." He wanted to touch her then but he knew she'd flinch away from him. Ron also wanted to reassure her somehow, let her know that things would change. He wanted to change them. "When I move to London I'll ask them to let you come and live with me…I mean us. The house is huge, you'd like it…"

"Draco tried that once before and they wouldn't let me go and live at his house. They said he wasn't stable enough, so I can't see them thinking any better of you."

"But it's different now," Ron said helplessly, even though he knew how it looked. He'd tried to kill himself, he'd become addicted to drugs and it was more than likely that he would be fighting depression for the remainder of his life – he was hardly the kind of person anyone would send a suicidal depressive to go and live with.

His parents were another story entirely.

"I'll think of something, Pansy," he promised, knowing that he shouldn't. "I'll get you out of here."

*******  
It was a Thursday night and Snape was considering the fact that all of his nights were fast becoming carbon copies of each other. It had been this way before the war and before Potter had come to Hogwarts; when he had spent years waiting for the boy to arrive. He'd slowly dissolved into boredom until he became a shadow of himself. In a way he was enjoying it now. This was essentially what it was supposed to be like; this was what he considered peace time to be.

But this wasn't peace time. There were things he was supposed to be doing. Finding a way to free Lucius. Protecting Hermione. Two things he should be doing. Instead he had fallen into some sense of routine that had once given his life meaning, and now was all simply making him feel guilty.

After the day's lessons he marked papers and potions, all the while marveling at the idea that most of his students might actually be unable to wipe their own arses, let alone put ingredients in the right order. He attended dinner in the Great Hall and ate mechanically, savoring very little of the food and focusing on nothing in particular. Every so often he'd look at Minerva and wonder when she would bother to forgive him. When he could, he would glance at Hermione and worry a little more. She wasn't looking well and he attributed this to the stress of knowing the Krum was out there somewhere. After dinner he would resist the admittedly resistible charms of the teachers' lounge in favor of prowling the corridors looking for troublemakers or any sign of wrong doing that would give him the opportunity to take his temper out on someone. Occasionally he would go to the Slytherin Common Room and give the Quidditch team a pep talk; he was fairly determined to win the Quidditch Cup that year.

Then finally he would go to his chambers and read until the early hours, masturbate, and then try to sleep.

So now it was Thursday night; late, and he was doing one last sweep of the long dungeon corridor before he went to bed. He didn't really notice when his arm started to itch at first. He just absently scratched at it and kept walking. Then the itch began to burn, hot enough to take his breath away and he sucked air in harshly between his teeth. Wrenching his sleeve up angrily, Severus half expected to see the Dark mark burned black against the soft white flesh of his inner arm.

There was no hideous skull confronting him though, instead he found a miniature map of Hogwarts and one point was glowing bright red and throbbing painfully.

Krum had crossed the protective circle from the back of the castle grounds. He'd come in from the forest and would no doubt come around the lake and across the lawns. Snape mentally calculated how long it would take Krum to reach the South East Tower. Whilst coming in from the back had given him the cover of the forest, it was going to take him a while to reach the lawns, and the tower was the other side of the castle. If Krum had only just crossed the circle he had a way to go before he even reached the lawns. Snape was closer to the lawns than Krum was, and so he could get there first – if he ran.

And suddenly, as though the realization had just hit him, he began to run.

*******  
"There is no way I am going to pass Potions…or Transfigurations." Harry was talking to himself, or rather he was talking to Draco's photograph that was propped up beside his bed. Since Krum's release Harry had spent most of his evenings in his room, trying to study and keeping one eye on the Marauders Map that now took up much of the wall beside his bed. He pulled his books out of his bag and scattered them over the bedspread.

"Why did I take the bloody classes anyway?"

Draco sat in his picture and remained infuriatingly silent. Harry's stomach churned. His future relied on these classes, he had to pass because becoming an Auror depended on getting _all_ of his NEWTS. But Draco had once accused him of choosing such a career because he thought himself incapable of doing anything else. Harry wondered if that was true. That perhaps if he put his mind to it he could find another occupation that he would be able to do just as well. Something that he would enjoy just as much.

 _And he wouldn't have to pass Potions or Transfigurations._

It had been a bad day. One of those days when he felt stupid – or as Snape would put it, a Dunderhead. One of those days when he was convinced that he was going to end up in the retired hero's home talking about his glory days, or driving people mad with the story of how he killed the Dark Lord and saved their world.

"My life is shit." He picked up his wand and activated the wards on the room. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to study and lament his future in quiet.

He also wanted to masturbate. He was doing a lot of that lately. He wondered if Draco had been as incredibly horny and frustrated as he had been. He almost felt like a deviant, because he couldn't keep his hands off himself. There were times when wanking was the only thing that stopped him from hurling himself into Draco's room and ravishing Draco on the spot.

Draco would let him, Draco would always let him.

Harry lay back and covered his face with his arms. Draco would welcome him. Draco would put his mouth around him, would take Harry's cock into that hot wet tunnel, and he would find himself nestled against Draco's tongue. It would feel so incredibly good.

Harry moaned softly and uncovered his face. Opening his eyes he almost expected to see Draco's grey eyes staring back at him.

Instead a flash of red caught the corner of his eye and he turned to the map on his wall.

 _Oh Gods, not now._

There he was, Viktor Krum pacing his way steadily up from the forest towards the castle. He'd come at last, at an inconvenient time, but he'd come and it would be over soon. Harry gave Draco's picture one last loving look and pulled the Map from the wall. Krum was on the other side of the grounds and if Harry was going to catch him before he reached the castle he was going to have to run.

But from the Dungeons he noticed the tiny figure of Severus Snape start running towards the stairs.

*******  
It wasn't raining, that in itself was a rarity, he could count the days that it hadn't rained during the last three months on his fingers. Summer must really be on its way. The air was heavy with damp and it was still cold, but the days had begun to lengthen and now the rain had begun to break at regular intervals. All too soon it would start to warm up.

But not tonight. The grass was wet and Snape's boots were soaked within minutes of running across the lawns, freezing his feet inside. His robes trailed behind him, dragging heavily through the wet grass.

It was tempting to cast a powerful Lumos charm to illuminate the entire lawn, from the stone courtyard down to the lake, but such a charm would alert the entire school to something happening outside. It would also alert Krum, and if Krum had not yet reached the lawn, he could turn and retreat back into the forest.

And Snape didn't want that. He didn't want any attention, and he certainly didn't want Krum to retreat. He was in no mood to play cat and mouse with Krum tonight. What he wanted was to finish what he had started so many months ago. He wanted Krum removed as a constant threat in Hermione's life.

He moved back to the edge of the stone courtyard where he could get a better view of the lawns, the lake and the dilapidated shadow of Hagrid's old hut. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the grounds, silent, and still as a statue. Just beyond Hagrid's hut he could see a fire burning. Dumbledore had mentioned that the new groundskeeper had planned to burn off excess leaves and clippings if there was a break in the weather. Snape walked in the direction of the fire a little way, just to ensure that it was indeed the groundskeeper that was tending the flames.

Although it seemed ridiculous to think that Krum would come all the way here and then start a fire.

It was indeed the groundskeeper. The man was unmistakable. Dumbledore had again scoured the Wizarding World and found an utter misfit. Unlike Hagrid however, Norgan Vale had nothing friendly in his countenance. In fact he seemed to share more in common with Filch than Hagrid, and while Snape had uses for Filch; and thus got along with the squib, he had no interest at all in this new addition to the castle staff.

Still, he may have seen Krum pass and he was sufficiently terrified of Snape to be helpful.

He headed down the lawn towards the fire and stopped in his tracks, squinting in the darkness. There was a distortion in the flames, like a ripple in the fabric of the air itself. Snape frowned and the ripple passed, then moved on leaving the fire intact. Snape's eye flicked quickly and found it again, this strange moving ripple, changing the landscape as it advanced. Something solid and yet unseen, all the while moving at the pace of a fast walk.

Snape smiled, thin lipped and grim, but it was a smile none the less.

Not an Invisibility Cloak - an invisibility charm. It was the sort of thing that could be easily missed if you weren't looking, but now that he had found it, easy to enough follow. It was coming closer, so single minded in his determination to reach the castle that Krum obviously did not notice Snape standing there in the dark. As he drew closer, Snape could finally feel his malevolent presence. Bitter and full of hate, loathing and malice. The footsteps that crushed the grass were heavy and seemed rather…duck footed.

Krum.

Snape's smile broadened.

*******  
Harry was running but one look at the map confirmed that Snape was going to reach Krum first, no matter how fast Harry ran. Despite his lungs feeling as though they would burst and his legs threatening to give way beneath him he didn't slow down, and he couldn't help but feel disappointed. If he reached Krum first it would all be over and done with. Snape would take Krum to Dumbledore and the whole thing would start over again.

He chanced a glance at the map. Snape had stopped, but Krum kept coming. Harry grinned and kept running, it was possible, a slim chance at best, but if Snape stayed still, Harry might make it.

But no, Snape started again and this time he was making a beeline for Krum and when they reached the edge of the courtyard, they both stopped and Harry realized that they would be standing directly in front of each other. Harry cursed his luck and wondered if he would risk just rounding the hedge and killing Krum in full view of Snape. What would happen to him, what would Snape do?

And then Harry rounded the hedge at a run, saw Snape and Krum and skidded to a halt.

*******

Snape drew his wand and pointed it at the on coming ripple; "Revelatio."

The invisibility charm fell away, melting back from the black clad form of Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian stopped his march across the lawn and stared at the figure of Snape before him.

Snape returned his stare, taking in his form. There was something in him, in the heaviness of his brow and the arch of his beak-like nose that reminded Snape uncomfortably of himself.

Krum smiled genially at Snape and nodded. "Professor Snape, I knew zat I vould run into you at some time…I vas hoping it vould be later."

Snape didn't speak, but Krum obviously thought he was safe enough. He was at Hogwarts castle, and he doubted Snape would try to do anything like flay him alive here. Not so close to the other Professors, not so close to Dumbledore.

"Are you standing guard over her?" He asked, sounding amused.

Still Snape didn't speak. He just stood there, hands folded calmly in front of him, his wand held loosely in one hand. Somewhere he could hear people moving, footsteps coming closer. Someone was on their way.

"Vot are you going to do, Professor? Stare at me until I leave?"

Snape shook his head. With someone coming he didn't have time to waste. He lifted his wand hand; a small movement, barely noticed by Krum who made to say something else or perhaps even wanted to laugh. Snape never found out, and he really didn't care either way.

"Avada Kedavra."

And Krum was dead. It was a simple matter altogether. A simple utterance and he fell silently to the grass, no life left in the body at all.

The footsteps behind him skidded to a halt. Two sets, from two separate directions. A gasped out "fuck" from behind him told him that Potter was one of the two.

And then from his right came Minerva's voice.

"Oh dear God Severus, what have you done?"

*******  
 _Continued…_


	47. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 4

**Chapter 18 – Part 4**

~~~~~

Draco had not expected a visit from Arthur Weasley. If he had, he reasoned, he might have tried not to sit in his room and drink so much that night, he may have even bothered to dress up a little – a very little. It was not so much that he was impressed by the man; he certainly wasn't, it was just that he didn't relish the idea of seeing his father's childhood enemy seeing him looking like a dirty drunk. The call to the Headmaster's office had been unexpected however, and it was late. He could imagine that most students in the castle were well and truly asleep, and only those unfortunate enough to have OWLS or NEWTS approaching were burning the midnight oil in an attempt to learn just that little bit more before exams.

Draco had been studying, but he had also been drinking – and he was covered in cat hair. Not the best impression to make.

"Mr. Weasley," he nodded, deciding that it was probably a good thing to be as respectful as possible. He didn't know what he was here for and it wouldn't do to start insulting him...yet.

"Draco," Arthur nodded in return, "please, sit down."

Draco scowled a little at the abruptness, but Weasley had on his political voice and curiosity flared inside Draco. He sat himself in the proffered chair and gave the older man a questioning look.

"I have something to talk to you about." Arthur changed his tone a little, made it more fatherly, as though he was talking to one of his own children. It was a sign that he saw Draco as being reasonable, an impression he'd gotten after talking to Molly about him. "Actually, it is a few things," he smiled at Draco's quizzical look and explained further, "I think we can help each other."

Draco straightened himself up in his chair and wished he had not had so much to drink. His mouth felt dry and he was suddenly tired, as though he could just nod off to sleep. He blinked a few times to wake himself up. "Alright, how can we help each other?"

Arthur leaned against the Headmaster's desk and Draco wondered just where Dumbledore was. "Well," Arthur started in a friendly way, "firstly I'd like to discuss Pansy Parkinson with you."

 _"Pansy?"_ Draco asked confused, "What about Pansy? Is something wrong?"

"No, no she's fine. My son Ron has asked my wife and I to take her in so that she can leave St Mungo's."

Draco couldn't help but look impressed. "Are you going to do it?"

Arthur nodded and seemed reluctant to reveal anything more, but he knew he had to, and so he continued, "Molly and I have spoken to the healers at St Mungo's and they are quite willing to release her into our care, however, the Ministry is concerned about our…" Arthur shuffled uncomfortably, "financial ability to care for her."

"Your financial ability?" Draco scoffed, "you've raised what, a thousand children? They think you can't look after this one? And what does the Ministry have to do with this anyway?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "It wasn't quite a thousand," he said indulgently, "and while I believe that we raised our own children well enough, the Ministry feel that if they are to let us take Pansy home with us, we have to prove we can afford to keep her. Fudge is bent on making our lives difficult at the moment. When he heard that we were trying to do this he threw the financial obstacle in our path. If you read tomorrow's Daily Prophet you'll find an article suggesting that I am trying to adopt a Death Eater's child."

Draco knew just how difficult Fudge could be towards those he saw as a threat, and he shook his head in disgust. "So what do you want from me?" He scowled harshly. "Money?" Then it was as though a light came on in his head, of course that was what Weasley wanted, money. "How much do you want?"

"Actually we don't _want_ anything, what we need is a surety from you. Ron suggested that you are close to Pansy and that you might be willing to help. We need a surety, something to reassure the Ministry that gold is available to support her. I think we'll have a problem because it comes from you, but if the finances are available they can hardly deny us what we ask."

"Do you want anything up front?"

"You don't understand Draco, I don't want any gold from you at all. Molly and I are perfectly capable of caring for her, we just need the façade of readily available gold."

Draco shrugged, "whatever you need." He pursed his lips, "Does she know that you're trying to do this? Because she's been disappointed in the past. Her uncle gave up on her and sent her back, and she doesn't deserve all the shit that's happened to her."

"I know," Arthur said gently. "I haven't told her anything yet, because I want to ensure that everything goes ahead before we get her hopes up."

"Good." Draco frowned and folded his arms across his chest. For some reason he felt angry; although he knew it wasn't directed at Weasley, and he was pissed off at Fudge's Ministry. He was also incredibly thirsty, and he scanned the room for a jug of water. "You said that there were other things you wanted to talk about…is there any water or juice or something here?"

"Arthur retrieved a jug of Pumpkin juice from the desk, "I'm afraid the rest is not so pleasant."

 _Oh great_. Draco accepted the juice and leaned back in his chair.

"I have to admit that I didn't think you'd be quite so…inebriated…when I spoke to you about it."

Draco nodded in agreement. "Well, let me assure you, I've been drunker."

Arthur stared at the young blond in front of him. Ron had described him as _'a pain in the arse',_ and he could see why Ron would think so. Draco Malfoy was, despite his inebriation, full of self assured bravado. Arthur wasn't entirely sure how much was real and how much was forced. For some reason he had been nervous about meeting him, and yet now he felt quite at ease. Dealing with Draco Malfoy was really no different to dealing with Ron or Harry. Draco had a similar way about him, questioning and a little angry. Arthur was sure Draco would hear him out, he just wasn't sure if Draco would be happy to hear what he was about to say.

Arthur took a deep breath and ploughed into the speech he had prepared, knowing that he probably wouldn't get to finish it before Draco started questioning him. "As you may know, I have made it known that I plan to challenge Cornelius Fudge for the Minister's chair."

Draco shrugged and nodded.

"The council will vote in June and I several agenda's that I plan to follow up," he suddenly found himself fidgeting under the young man's gaze. _Merlin he looks just like his father_. "One of the things I would like to look into is this Death Eater exhibition at the Museum."

Draco drew breath so quickly that he coughed.

"Ron tells me," Arthur continued unabated, "that you believe Archibald Semeuse to be abusing your father."

Draco wheezed a little; "Archibald Semeuse?"

"The Curator of the Museum."

"I know who he is," Draco said darkly. "Ron told you this?"

"Harry told Ron."

"Harry has been talking about my father with Ron?"

Arthur could see that Draco was becoming agitated, but he pressed on, deciding that Malfoy Jnr. had to hear him out. "Harry and Ron have been telling each other things for a long time Draco. The point is that if this abuse is happening, I can do something about it. If I become Minister I'll be able to stop it."

"You'd stop it?"

"Yes."

"That would probably make you pretty unpopular."

"I don't want to be the Minister of Magic just to be popular."

"Would he be able to come home?"

That threw Arthur, because he wasn't sure exactly what to do with the remaining Death Eaters once the exhibition had been disbanded. He had planned to return them to Azkaban to be cared for, but then he had also planned to have the Dementors removed from Azkaban. He wondered if there could be a harm in sending Lucius Malfoy home. The man had been Kissed, so it was not as though he was going to be able to do anything to hurt anyone. "I guess that could be arranged."

"Alright." Draco sounded suspicious. "So what do you want me to do? I figure you wouldn't be here to tell me that you can help my father unless you wanted something from me in return."

Arthur knew that he should have been offended, but in this case the boy was right. "Yes, there is something you can do to help me."

"And?"

"The other main agenda I have for when I get into office is the prosecution of Fudge's Inquisitors."

Once again Draco almost coughed up a lung. "You want to prosecute the Inquisitors? But they were on _your_ side."

"I know, I know that they were supposed to be on our side, but there are a good many of us who are more than a little ashamed of how they went about questioning Voldemort's followers. In the end the Inquisitors were more interested in destroying old blood lines than they were answers…you know that yourself."

"So…" Draco rasped again, "what do you want from me?"

"If I can get this prosecution to trial I want you to testify against Alastor Moody."

Draco had gone pale. He looked away, not entirely sure of what to say. "I…I don't think…why do you want to drag all this crap up again?"

"Because they deserve to be punished, Draco. The Inquisitors killed children, they killed your friends, they almost killed _you._ "

"Sometimes it's better to leave these things in the past." Draco looked as though he was going to be sick. "If I don't help you, what happens to my father?"

And now was the time to be a politician. Arthur cleared his throat again and steeled himself to do this. "If you help me I will help you. If you agree to testify, I'll make sure your father comes home."

"And if I don't?"

"Then Lucius will be returned to Azkaban."

Draco smiled grimly, it seemed there was a politician in Weasley after all.

*******  
Minerva was staring at the body on the ground, and the body stared back at her, or rather it stared vacantly at the sky, a semi-amused smile still on its lips. "Severus?" She swallowed hard, trying to wet her throat, "what have you done?"

Snape too was staring at the body. It had been so easy; it had taken no effort at all. Just a point of the wand and a murmured curse, no hissing emphasis, no well of emotion. He had forgotten just how easy it was. It struck him that he was too efficient with that particular curse.

"Answer me Severus!"

He frowned down at the body and finally looked to Minerva who was deathly pale and looked ready to faint. What had he done? "I've taken care of a problem; that's all, a pest if you will." He was surprised by the sound of his own voice, he sounded shell shocked. Perhaps he wasn't so efficient after all.

"You…" Minerva approached him, her gaze returning to the body, "you killed him!"

"I know." He sounded hollow now, but he didn't feel it. All he felt was relief. Potter had also approached him and Snape realized dumbly that the boy was standing beside him, looking down at Krum with a solemn expression on his face.

"But…" Minerva was still disbelieving, "you could go to Azkaban…you've killed him!"

Snape shrugged, "it doesn't matter, she's safe now. Isn't that the point?"

Minerva fell silent.

"I was coming to do the same thing," Harry said. Snape and Minerva turned to look at him, but Harry was still staring down at Krum as though he were some kind of disgusting mess, "It was the only way in the end. He wouldn't have stopped until he found her," he finished.

"Better then that I did it, Potter," Snape said blandly.

Still Minerva didn't speak, afraid that if she did she would agree with them.

"What are we going to do with it?" Harry asked, he crouched beside the body and looked into the still face.

"We'll go to Dumbledore," Snape said quietly, "he can contact the Ministry and they can come and take it away."

Harry stared up at Snape, utterly incredulous and for the first time realized that the man had feelings that ran deeper than Harry could have ever predicted. He was willing to go to Azkaban to keep Hermione safe? Harry was quite prepared to kill Krum, but by God he would have covered it up as best he could…or at least concocted some kind of story to go with the murder. Perhaps if they had not come across the scene and he had been left alone he would have disposed of the body in his own way. Harry had no doubt that Snape had his ways, the man had been a Death Eater and a spy, and he knew how to hide a body.

But he'd been caught in the act and now he seemed to accept his fate with stoic certainty. He made no move to defend his actions. He had no defense, and Harry could tell that he honestly believed that Krum was a problem that had to be eliminated, the same way he would eliminate a potion that had failed, or a stain on his dress robes.

"We can't tell the Ministry," Minerva said, voicing what Harry was thinking. Her eyes darted from the body to the two men and then to the castle. She began to pace, thinking quickly, "If the Ministry become involved you will go to Azkaban for murder. Fudge has hated you for years - he'll have you kissed and gone so fast…" she stopped pacing and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. The very idea was too terrible to contemplate. She could visualize so clearly those Death Eaters in their museum cases, and she could not stand for that to be his fate. She loved him, not romantically but deeply, and she could not stand to be here without him. She couldn't and wouldn't stand for him to lose himself to a Dementor, not for this crime, not for protecting a love. "You can't go to prison, not for the likes of Viktor Krum."

"Minerva…" Snape began, but Harry cut him off.

"Professor McGonagall is right. He was coming here to hurt Hermione and no matter what we did he wasn't going to stop until he found a way to her. It's better this way, its better that he's dead."

"Be that as it may, Potter," Snape seemed to recover himself a little, "I'm almost certain that Dumbledore already knows something has happened…"

"He won't contact the Ministry." Minerva said, "He'll cover it up."

"It doesn't matter," Snape replied, "I can accept it, and I dare say I probably deserve it."

"Don't be so fucking ridiculous," Harry snapped and then begrudgingly he added, "Hermione needs you, she needs you to still be around."

"Hermione doesn't _need_ me, Potter. Hermione needs to be left to her own devices so that she can have a life. I didn't get rid of this useless piece of shit so that she could _need_ me."

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to spill out, _"she's pregnant, she does needs you,"_ but he stopped himself. It was Hermione's place to pass on that piece of information. Instead he stared evenly at the man he'd hated since the moment they'd met and said; "have you ever considered that she might want to have a life that included you in it? Who, for fuck's sake, are you to judge what is the best way for her to live her life?" Harry shrugged and shook his head. "She loves _you_. I have no fucking idea why but she does – and I thought you just didn't love her back, but you obviously do, so why are you making both your lives miserable?" His eye suddenly shifted past Snape, down the lawns. "Mr. Vode is burning leaves."

Minerva too turned to see what Harry was watching. Snape had already seen it. Vode's bonfire was irrelevant.

"We could burn it," Harry said urgently, "we could burn the body."

"I think Vode would notice if we threw a body on his fire," Snape said and then stopped, catching Harry's thought.

"Not if he's not a body," Harry looked to Minerva, "he could be something more…"

"Combustible," Minerva finished for him. She looked down at Krum with a little more interest, gauging his size and shape. "Vernis Foliage."

The body rocked and shivered and then seemed to shake off its human form until it shuddered itself into a long slender shape and finally settled into a grey branch with crisp brown leaves. A single dry and very dead grey branch.

Harry picked up the branch. It was strangely weighted, not heavy but it seemed full somehow, not branch-like. At least it didn't look like Krum any more.

"It won't change back will it?" Harry asked, "Or bleed?"

Minerva looked entirely miffed at the implied doubt. "It will behave just like a dead branch, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled uneasily, trying to convince himself that it was nothing more than a branch he was holding and not the body of Viktor Krum. He looked between his two Professors'. Snape looked a little paler than usual and McGonagall looked slightly ill. He turned to watch the fire blazing beyond Hagrid's hut.

"Goodnight Professors', I'll see you in class."

Minerva looked away, but Snape nodded abruptly. "Don't tell Hermione."

Harry nodded his agreement, knowing full well that it wouldn't be such a good idea. Then he set off at a run towards Mr. Vode and his bonfire.

*******  
Hermione stood staring absently out the Common Room window. In the darkness all she could see was the dazzling whiteness of the snow still capped on the highest mountain tops. Any snow that had managed to reach the castle had long since melted. It was still cold, but winter was leaving them.

She stroked her belly, trying to feel the presence of a baby in there. She found only the flatness of her normal stomach; there was no little mound, and so there was nothing to reveal her condition – yet.

She dug into the bowl of ice cream that Dobby had brought her from the kitchens. She should feel worried. She had spent other nights staring out of this window, knowing that somewhere out there, Viktor Krum was no doubt hating her and that maybe (probably) he would come to get her and seek his revenge.

She should have been worried, but tonight, for the first time in a long time, she felt perfectly safe.

*******  
Harry watched the branch slowly crackle in the fire and marveled at McGonagall's skills. He had feared that the branch would change as it burned and he would be confronted with a charred body to explain to the unfriendly Mr. Vode. Instead the branch burned as a branch should burn and he watched it snap and crackle and glow, mesmerized by the flames. Through those flames he could see Snape and McGonagall sitting on the low wall that enclosed the courtyard, watching him.

They looked friendly. Hermione had said that they were close, but that recently McGonagall had not been speaking to him due to the "Regina incident". Harry hid a secret smile at Hermione's term for what had gone on in Snape's chambers. Now they were sitting side by side on the low wall, McGonagall murmuring something every so often to Snape, who seemed to be saying little but his body seemed to lean towards her, as though he was drawing comfort from her.

Not that Snape would ever admit to such a thing.

They had both surprised him. Snape because of the lengths he was willing to go to in order to protect Hermione, and McGonagall because Harry had always considered her straight laced and law abiding. He could never have imagined that she would help to cover up what was essentially a murder – although Harry preferred to think that Snape had put Krum down in much the same way one would put down a sick dog.

McGonagall loved Snape. Not in the same way Hermione did, but then there were many kinds of love. It made Harry begrudgingly think that perhaps there was a lot more to Snape than he'd thought. Hermione loving him he could put down to raging hormones and poor taste, McGonagall loving him? Well, there had to be _something_ there.

And of course there was the fact that Snape had killed Krum so easily. Harry had seen little of the encounter, but they hadn't been there long, a matter of seconds and from what Harry _had_ seen, Snape had just killed him, without issue. He had planned to kill Krum all along, just as Harry had planned to kill Krum all along. Snape had been more than willing to go to Azkaban to protect Hermione. If Harry had ever questioned Snape's feelings for her, he now had ample proof of them. He had laid everything bare for both Harry and McGonagall to see.

Not that he'd meant anyone to see, but he'd not shied away from the deed once he had been caught.

Harry returned to watching the branch burn. It glowed red in places, whilst the remainder was black as pitch and slowly starting to crumble away with each snap and hiss of the fire. In a matter of hours it would be little more than ash and Harry would stay all night and watch it burn. When it was all reduced to mere ashes, Harry knew he would take the pile and scatter them into the wind. Mr. Vode would no doubt watch him, knowing that Harry was the hero of their world – and that his sanity had often been questioned. He would think nothing of a mad hero running about throwing ashes into the rosebushes.

Snape stood up and turned to go. He stooped. Harry had never really noticed it before. But when Snape turned his face back to take one last look at Harry and the fire, Harry found his face a little less repulsive.

*******  
One of the few joys of Snape's job as Potions Master at Hogwarts came in the form of his Advanced Potions class. On the whole his advanced students actually managed to please him no end. The class was notoriously difficult to gain entry to; only the very best got in, and in the past he had been known not to have an advanced class at all if he felt no student sufficient enough for the work. Surprisingly, this class was quite large, well, large by Snape's standards. There were eight people, none of whom where Neville Longbottom and none of whom would ever melt a cauldron.

It also meant that he could mark papers while the class worked unaided. Except of course that Potter was in this class. Potter who didn't belong here and whom he wouldn't have allowed in except that the Headmaster had specially requested it. Snape had been hoping that Potter would be failing so badly that he could be thrown out, but they now had a shared secret and there was no way that Snape was throwing him out of something as trifling as a classroom.

It had been more than a month since Krum's body had gone to earth and no one who had witnessed it had mentioned it once. There were looks though and Potter knew that he was not going to be thrown out of any class of Snape's. It didn't stop the little shit from irritating the hell out of him. Snape was amazed that any of Potter's potions actually worked considering the quality of his base planetary tinctures.

Today they were making complex inner eye potions. Made correctly the potion was a powerful tool which would allow the Witch or Wizard who imbibed it to see between the subtle fabric that separated the magical dimensions. Incorrectly made and the ingredients would make a powerful hallucinogenic drug that would send the Witch or Wizard who imbibed it on the biggest trip of their life – one from which they would never return. The closed ward of St Mungo's was full of gibbering idiots who had failed to put their potions together properly.

It was this reason that had led Snape to the decision that not a single drop of Potter's potion would actually reach anyone's lips. He cast a quick glance to the bench Potter shared with Hermione. Hermione was showing him what to do, something that would normally infuriate him but today he let it slide. Aside from the fact that without her help, Potter's Potion was no doubt going to be incredibly dangerous (face it, it was going to be dangerous with her help), Hermione was looking ill again; all pale and drawn. She did not look as though her concentration was good, and she looked very tired. Snape made a mental note not to test her potion either.

A few rows back Draco was making his potion with the violent intentions of an angry housewife. Snape rolled his eyes and wondered if there was going to be an explosion in class today.

Hermione had spilled Belladonna concentrate on her hand, Snape saw the bottle tip over without being able to stop her, and he automatically reached for something to neutralize it. Hermione swayed and Snape stepped down from his desk quickly, too late he realized that she was going to wipe her eyes, completely unaware that she had spilled anything on her hands at all.

Snape moved fast, but Draco, who was closer and had been watching Harry, moved faster. He grabbed Hermione by the wrist and wrenched her hand away from her face. Hermione yelped in surprise and pain, slipping backwards against Draco who automatically slipped an arm around her waist to steady them both.

Harry had stepped back, confused and then glaring angrily at Draco. Then Snape stepped in and poured the neutralizing agent over Hermione's fingers.

"What happened?" Harry asked, shoving Draco roughly away from Hermione.

"She had Belladonna on her hands," Snape said, not bothering to hide his annoyance with Potter for sitting right next to her and not noticing. "Draco just stopped her from destroying her eyesight."

"Oh…" Harry looked regretfully at Draco who looked a little hurt. "I'm really sorry."

Draco didn't get to reply because Hermione, who was still swaying, chose that moment to faint and Harry was forced to suddenly focus all his attention on lowering her gently to the floor.

 _This is a fucking circus._ Snape crouched down beside her and frowned. By now the whole class was crowded around, staring down at the girl on the floor.

"Go and tell Madam Pomfrey that I'm bringing her directly to the Infirmary," Snape hissed at Harry. He gently scooped Hermione up from the floor.

"She doesn't need to go and see Madam Pomfrey," Harry said a little too quickly, "She's just tired…she hasn't been eating well lately."

Snape glared at Harry and tried to ignore the class watching; "If she is going to faint in my class then she needs to go to the Infirmary."

"She just needs to rest," Harry insisted, noting that Hermione was coming to, "she'll be fine."

Draco smiled spitefully and leaned forward, placing his hand on his Godfather's shoulder and whispered in his ear; "she's pregnant, Severus – up the duff." Then he straightened, turned with a large smirk on his face, and returned to his desk and his bubbling cauldron.

Snape's dark eyes widened and the savage pain and jealousy that lanced through his middle seemed for a moment to be utterly unbearable. His heart seemed to stop and hurt simultaneously, and his mind reeled in pure horror at the now irrefutable certainty that he had lost her.

He swore bluntly and heard the class murmur at his language.

"Miss Granger's ridiculous fainting fit has nothing to do with the class," Snape said silkily, glancing at the interested onlookers with a glare fierce enough to quell anyone foolish enough to argue with him. "I would suggest that you return to your cauldrons before I fail you all."

The class shuffled silently back to their places, and though the desire to gossip about why Hermione had passed out was almost palpable, they said nothing. Hermione herself groaned and tried to sit up. Snape lifted her however, and with an expression so severe that her classmates pitied her fate, he carried her out of the classroom.

He did not take her to the Hospital Wing however. Instead, he carried her across the hall to his office and kicked the door savagely shut behind him. He then dumped her unceremoniously into a chair.

Hermione blinked a few times and wondered just how she had allowed this to happen. Fainting in class was bad enough, but fainting in Potions! She dragged her tongue dryly across her bottom lip and shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to sit up a little straighter so that she could face him. She had no idea of how to explain what had just happened and with no inkling that Draco had already told him anything, so she settled with a simple, "thank you."

"You're welcome," he drawled sarcastically, "I have been led to understand that changing hormones tend to make _pregnant_ women faint quite easily."

If she thought that he mouth was dry before, she was positively parched now. With dawning horror she looked everywhere about the room but at him. How had he found out? Who could have told him? She swallowed and wondered just what to say to him and found that she could think of nothing at all.

Her silence did little to quash the jealousy that tore at him.

Yet, despite the painful tearing inside him, he wanted to touch her so badly that his fingers tingled. But evidently she wasn't his to touch any longer. No, judging by her present condition she belonged to someone else entirely.

That thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth and he spoke out of spite; "I see you don't waste any time. Who is the lucky father?" A worse thought crossed his mind. "Is it Potter?"

She looked at him with shock. A flash of hurt entered her eyes and then she quickly looked away again. "It doesn't matter, Severus," she said softly.

"Oh, of course it doesn't bloody matter," he bit out harshly, "what does it matter that we've been apart what, two, three months? And now you've managed to get yourself pregnant, how clever of you."

Hermione hissed in response; " _you_ told me to go and fuck other men, Severus!"

His jaw tightened. Silently he admitted that it galled him the most, the pure unadulterated regret he lived with every day. He had let her go. He had wanted her to get on with her life. But there was a selfish aching part of him that didn't want her to move on. She was his and his alone. "So what happened?" He asked nastily, that selfish part of him lashing out and wanting to hurt her as much as he was hurting, "off you went and fell in love with someone else? Or have you just been a petty little slut, opening her legs for anyone who came along? Taking a leaf out of Ginny Weasley's book?"

Her face flushed and she suddenly looked every bit as furious as he did, but looking deeper he could see the hurt in her eyes and he was disgusted to find that he felt satisfied by that. At least he wasn't the only one hurting in all of this.

"I didn't fall in love with anyone else." Her voice was low and modulated as she kept her temper in check.

He laughed, mocking her bitterly, "well then, I guess the slut theory rings true."

"I haven't slept with anyone else!" She snapped finally and then clamped her mouth shut and looked away.

It was Snape's turn to blink and her words seeped through the haze of anger like a cold dose of reality. His anger was the only thing blinding him to the obvious signs. His eyes narrowed and he looked closer at her, trying to perceive any changes in her young body. He knew precious little about pregnant women, only the odd things he had overheard whilst listening to conversations in the staff room – and such conversations were few and far between, but gut instinct gnawed at him. Apprehension and emotion began to mingle with the anger, along with another emotion, one he could not put a name to.

She placed a possessive hand over her still flat belly, her expression reflecting her panic. "I have to go," she said quickly and pushed herself up from the chair, determined to get herself out of there without any further confrontation.

Without thought he grabbed her arm, his fingers digging hard into the soft flesh, his heart beating so hard that he could hear it drumming in his ears.

She tugged at her arm but his grasp was painfully strong.

"Whose baby is it?" he asked, his voice as horribly tight as the pressure in his chest.

"Mine!" she spat fiercely.

He ground his teeth, knowing the answer to his question but asking it again anyway; "who is the father, Hermione?"

"It's none of your business, _Professor._ "

He leaned in close, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek, "I'm making it my business."

Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. With great effort he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and apologize for hurting her. But he would never apologize, because he wasn't sorry and he wanted answers. He never questioned why the need was so strong. All he told himself was that he just wanted to know the truth.

"Hermione," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper and vibrating with warning, "I want to know who the father is, I want you to tell me – I can make you tell me."

She wanted to cry. What would he do if she told him? Force her to get rid of the child? "Why do you care?" she cried.

 _Because I love you._ That was the only explanation his heart and mind would allow and he didn't want to fight it, but she was being stubborn, and he was stubborn in return. "Answer me," he said harshly.

She closed her eyes and when they opened again he saw, as well as felt, her defeat. "Who did you think it would be, Severus?" She asked, her voice choked, "it's _yours_ , Severus, it would always have been yours."

Stunned he let go of her arm and felt himself sway backwards. It was the answer he had expected, but to hear it...

He tried to drag air into his lungs, but it seemed that oxygen was in such short supply that a simple breath was too much to ask.

 _It's yours, Severus, it would always have been yours._ Her words reached him on some distant plain. He was going to be a father. He gave his head a shake and attempted to push aside the terror that was crashing down on him. Oh dear Merlin, he couldn't be a father. He didn't know how to be a father and he was fairly certain that he would be a thoroughly shitty father. Look at what his own father had been, what if he was as rotten and foul? He was already rotten and foul! The prospect; once so distant, was so frighteningly overwhelming that he felt the need to vomit.

Hermione took one look at his face and pushed past him, heading to the door and snapping him out of his brief stupor. He went after her, catching her on the threshold.

"Hermione!" He moved in front of her, forcing her to stop. "I'm not finished with you."

She lifted her stubborn chin and despite how pale she appeared she shocked him with the fire in her eyes; "there is nothing to talk about."

He begged to differ on that score. "Why didn't you tell me about this child when you found out you were pregnant?" he demanded with far more calm than he felt.

"Because you were better off not knowing. Besides, I didn't think you'd care either way," she replied bluntly.

He flinched as though she had physically slapped him. What kind of a monster did she think he was – to think that he didn't care about her at all? He controlled his voice, ensuring that it did not waver. "Since I am the child's father I have a responsibility to it – and to you."

"A responsibility you have made more than clear you don't want," she argued heatedly, "so I release you from all obligation. Now, leave me alone."

His jaw clenched tighter. "It is my responsibility none the less."

"I don't want or expect anything from you. I am fully prepared to raise this child by myself." Again she had her hand over her stomach, as though protecting the foetus inside from him. "I don't want this baby to be some great noble sacrifice for you or some _obligation._ I deserve better than that, and so does my child."

Each word was like a blow. She was right of course, so right it hurt. She did deserve better and so did her child. Their child. The thought made his heart twist painfully and he knew that the irrefutable truth was that the child she carried inside her would be far better off without him as a father. He knew nothing but the worst about raising a child. He knew how to instill fear, how to dominate and intimidate. That was all.

A strange sense of despair wrapped around him; fear and regret meshed together, and then added to the whole befuddled mess was an instant memory of the strange confused and mistreated child he had once been.

But he was a grown man now, shaped by a lifetime of disappointment and educated by a cruel, bitter man who had taught his son little more than humiliation and degradation and how to carry on that tradition. But regardless of all of that, he had a responsibility to Hermione and he would not fail her. He would do anything for her; he had proved that to himself if not to her, and now he would do anything to protect the life inside her.

He calmed himself, realizing that fighting her was not getting them anywhere, and he decided it would be best to change tactics. He breathed out, straightened himself up and asked; "how far along are you?"

She didn't look at him, but she too calmed, sensing that he was going to try and be civil and so she should make the same effort. "The last time we were together was Valentine's Day, so then, or sometime before."

He frowned and mentally calculated. Two and a half, three months, far enough along for it to be well established. How long had she known about it? How long had she hid it? "Have you been to see someone? A mediwitch, or a…" what were they called? "A midwife?"

"No…not yet." She hesitated, chewing her lip and belying her discomfort, "I don't want to go to Madam Pomfrey…or anyone in the village. I don't want the gossip and they'd tell the Headmaster if a student went in there. Lavender thinks I should go to St Mungo's."

So Miss Brown knew this too. "She's probably right. You should go to St Mungo's."

"I don't want to," she said quickly and realized that she sounded immature. "I was going to wait, until after exams." She didn't want to admit it but she didn't want to go alone. Harry was a wreck (no matter what he said) and both he and Lavender were caught up with studying for exams, and she didn't want to distract from that.

But Snape was looking at her as though she was mad. "Hermione, exams are two months away, you need to see someone now." He began to pace, "I will make an appointment for you."

"But…"

"And I'll make you something for this fainting. Do you get sick too?" He didn't wait for a reply, of course she got sick, he'd seen her looking ill and now it simply made sense. "I'll make you something for that too."

"But I…"

"You can't Apparate," he added, remembering some staff room conversation where someone was discussing babies being splinced in utero when some fool Witch Apparated without thinking. "We'll have to catch the Knight Bus to London."

We? Was he coming too? She watched him pace and was a little shamed to feel relief flood over her. He was taking charge, and at that moment; although it was weak, she desperately wanted someone to take charge. She bowed her head slowly. He may not be her future, no matter how much she wanted him to be, but he would get her through this day.

*******  
"Master Severus is becoming insistent," Non wrung his hands, "he won't accept excuses anymore. He says that he will keep Master Draco away, but he wants to know how to help you."

"He can't," Lucius sounded tired, he always sounded tired these days. "Draco needs to be there," he explained, "it's part of the spell…" He stopped and in that instant knew he'd said too much. "Don't tell him that, just tell him I'm fine."

"Master Severus knows that you're dying."

"I told you not to tell him."

"You must not blame Non, Master Lucius, but Master Severus insisted."

Lucius stayed silent. Time had slipped away from him and he was well and truly dying. The air around him felt warmer and it was not through a charm. Summer must be coming. The days were longer. The Angel had lasted far longer than Lucius had expected.

"Just make sure he looks out for Draco, because after I'm gone, Semeuse will want him. I don't know what to do once school finishes - Severus will have to look after him then."

Non watched Lucius for a while and felt his eyes start to water. He could not stand this, he could not stand to watch him die. "You must rest Master Lucius. Non will tell Master Severus to look after Master Draco…"

Lucius chuckled, "you have too many Masters."

Non swallowed hard, "Non will make sure Master Draco stays safe."

"Good," Lucius sighed, "go and tell Severus now. Just go and tell him."

*******  
 _Continued…_


	48. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 5

**Chapter 18 – Part 5**

"You should eat something more than that." Lavender was berating Hermione whilst devouring toast and bacon. Hermione had just managed to force a piece of toast down, but felt too sick to eat anything else.

"I can't, I feel terrible."

"Have you taken the potion that Professor Snape gave you?"

"No," Hermione replied irritably, "I don't want to take anything. It can't be good taking all these potions to cure anything and everything."

Harry, seated the other side of her, stared at Hermione as though she was insane. "You used to take anything just to see what it would do! You drank Polyjuice Potion that you brewed in a toilet!"

"Now she won't even take a potion for contraception," Lavender added sagely.

"Hence the current predicament," Harry concluded.

"Would you two just shut up?" Hermione winced and felt her stomach churn.

"He wouldn't give you anything that would hurt you," Harry said quietly, "or the baby either."

"Since when did you join the Severus Snape Fan Club?" Hermione snapped.

"I haven't, but I know he wouldn't hurt you."

"Yeah, well, he hasn't said two words to me since he found out about the baby."

"That's not true," Lavender countered, "he came and gave you the potion. He was really nice to you then."

"You think he's just lovely don't you? Why don't you marry him if you think he's so great?"

Harry and Lavender stared at her. "Wow." Harry managed, "That was the most childish thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

Harry was distracted when McGonagall placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and owls began to descend from the rafters with the morning mail. Hedwig dumped two letters onto Harry's plate and then settled on the table to pick at what was left of Harry's breakfast.

"Hermione?" McGonagall leaned down to speak quietly into Hermione's ear, "I've booked an appointment for you at St Mungo's, for next Saturday morning. We thought it might be best if you and Severus go to London on Friday evening so you have plenty of time to get there."

"Friday?" Hermione frowned at her, "Why can't we just Apparate on Saturday morning?"

Minerva pursed her lips disapprovingly. "You can't dear, and Apparating is very bad for the foetus. Now it might be an idea to ask Mr. Potter if you can both stay at Grimmauld Place. Severus has said that he'll get rooms at the Leaky Cauldron but it depends on what you would prefer."

"I have keys to Grimmauld Place," Hermione murmured, "we can stay there."

"Good," Minerva smiled tightly, "Good. I know that Severus is trying to get a coach to take you to London, but Albus isn't overly pleased with this turn of events and is saying that he can't have it, so you'll probably have to take the Knight Bus…I'm sure Severus will come up with something else."

"Tell him the bus will be fine."

"Alright." Minerva looked at Hermione, attempting to decipher her mood. "Are you feeling well?"

"I…I'm…I feel a little…sick."

"Oh yes…" Minerva smiled, remembering a piece of information she was supposed to be passing on, "Severus says to drink your potion."

Hermione said nothing, but as Minerva straightened up and turned to go Hermione grabbed her arm. "How is he?" She asked quickly; " How is he about…about everything?"

Minerva bent back down to Hermione's ear. "He's better than I thought he'd be," she admitted. "I thought he'd have run screaming into the distance if someone gave him this piece of news. But he is very… _calm._ "

Hermione absently stroked her small belly through her robes. Calm was better than terrified, and it was certainly better than angry or depressed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of potion that he had given her. Harry was right, Severus wouldn't hurt her, not physically anyway.

"Take the potion," Minerva said in a motherly fashion as she finally began to walk away. She patted Hermione's shoulder, "It'll make you feel much better." Minerva then looked to Lavender and in a firmer voice said, "Make sure she takes it."

Lavender grinned and began berating Hermione with renewed vigor.

"Who did you get letters from? " Hermione asked Harry, ignoring Lavender who was pouring a measure of the potion into a spoon.

"One from Moody…" Harry scowled at the letter and crumpled it into a ball, "congratulating me on getting rid of Draco. The other one is from Fred," Harry picked up the letter, reading from it, "he wants me to go out to a club with him."

"Maybe you should go," Hermione suggested, taking the spoon from Lavender and downing the potion, "Ooh, Strawberry flavored."

"He must've made it nice for you," Lavender teased, "I think he lurves you."

Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically. If only it were true. "Maybe you should go," she repeated to Harry.

"With Fred?" Harry sounded dubious, "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not? You might have fun."

"Yeah, and I might spend all night working out how to get Fred's hands off my arse."

Hermione shook her head and smiled, feeling better as the potion quickly went to work. She only wanted to see Harry happy, and while she did not believe that Harry and Fred would make an even halfway decent couple, she thought that perhaps Harry might enjoy a night out and away from his troubles – and away from Draco. Draco, who hadn't said much at all to anyone, but who was slowly killing himself with drink and Harry was blaming himself for that too.

For Lavender though, the thought of Draco was a little more troubling and she couldn't help but ask the obvious question; "what about Draco?"

"I'm suggesting Harry go out for a night," Hermione replied, "I'm not suggesting he and Fred go and elope."

"Yeah, but it's still a date," Lavender reasoned, "and unlike you guys I've actually talked to Draco recently and I've seen what he's doing to himself. He's not going to take it well."

Harry was silent at this. It was true, he couldn't imagine Draco taking it well. School would be over soon, exams were in a matter of weeks and after that Harry would leave Hogwarts and probably wouldn't see Draco again. There would be plenty of time to go out with Fred then.

But that prospect terrified him too. He didn't _not_ want to see Draco everyday, and in all honesty he didn't want to go out with Fred, even for a couple of drinks.

The bench moved and someone sat down heavily beside him. Harry glanced sideways and felt his mouth dry up when he realized that Draco had just sat himself down next to him and was reaching for coffee.

"What are you doing?"

Draco looked back at him and scowled, "having breakfast, what does it look like I'm doing?"

Harry stared at him, unshaven, reeking of stale alcohol and sweat and Harry still wanted him – badly.

Draco's mouth twisted into a sneer as he misinterpreted the look on Harry's face; "if you look around the table you'll notice that there's no other place to sit," he growled it out and when Harry said nothing he pushed the coffee away, swore violently and made to leave the table.

Harry grabbed him and pulled him back. "Sit down," he said, his confusion over what to say easily being mistaken for irritation, "and eat your bloody breakfast."

Draco, who really needed the coffee, slumped back down insolently.

"Draco." Lavender leaned across Hermione and Harry and before they could think to stop her she asked; "Fred Weasley asked Harry to go and have a couple of drinks with him. Would you have a problem with that?"

Harry glared at Lavender as his stomach flip flopped and Hermione automatically began massaging the headache from her temples.

Draco stared at Harry. "You want to go out with Fred Weasley?"

"It's just a drink," Harry said stiffly.

"Why?" Draco asked in a clipped tone.

"Because he asked me." The irritation in Harry's voice was very real now.

"Are you planning to fuck him?" Draco asked accusingly.

Harry's mouth fell open. Why was it that Draco's first thought always had to go straight to fucking? And why, Harry reasoned, should he have to justify who he was going out with?

"Well?" Draco demanded, "are you?"

"If I fucking want to!"

"Fine, "Draco spat getting up from the table, "have fun… and I hope you catch some hideous fucking disease from his putrid fucking cock!"

And with that he stalked away.

Lavender shrugged in the face of the furious stare Harry was giving her. "Well, at least now you know he minds."

"Yeah, thanks Lav," Harry sneered, "thanks a lot."

*******  
Lucius sat in his ornate wheelchair and stared out the French doors onto the balcony. He had not been outside for three days, despite the fact that the sun was shining and summer had almost arrived. It seemed he was perpetually stuck indoors.

He knew why. Non had gone to Hogwarts and not come back. Semeuse had been silent on the House Elf's absence and had made no moves to replace him. The Curator's mood had been foul, and he'd not spoken to Lucius since Non had disappeared. Instead Semeuse had hit him occasionally, and grunted something before magically hurling him to the bed and buggering him hard.

Lucius had come to the conclusion that Non was dead. Semeuse must have caught him – and Semeuse must have killed him.

He'd surprised himself by crying when he'd realized the little Elf's fate. Not for himself, but because he had; beyond all expectations, liked Non. He had grown up with the Elf in the house, and he had placed Draco in his care. Non had started in the kitchen and worked his way up to running the whole Manor. He did not belong in the museum. He did not deserve to die because the Curator of the museum was a madman, or because Lucius had gotten himself into this kind of trouble. He deserved to be back at the Manor, living his life and dying a very old contented Elf indeed.

He didn't deserve to have a sick pervert kill him.

Lucius wondered what had happened. Had Non been caught going to Hogwarts or coming back? Or had he just displeased the Curator as so many of the Elves had?

The irony was not lost on Lucius. He'd killed plenty of what he'd termed lower creatures just because they had irritated him.

But Non was not a lesser creature. Non was Non and Lucius felt the loss of him more than he thought possible.

It was as though a net was closing around him. He was going to die alone here and for the first time he felt scared.

*******  
Hermione stood nervously outside the castle gates trying not to let her feet sink into the mud that lined the edge of the road. Not that the road itself was much better, but since the rain had finally stopped for more than a week, everything was beginning to dry out. The chill of winter was also beginning to diminish although it was still cold. She had always remembered May to be warmer than this, but then again, she could be wrong. She wasn't sure of much any more.

She had dressed for the trip to London with deliberate casualness. Basic jeans and jumper and her heavy traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her to ward off the chill. Lavender had suggested something more sexual, something seductive that would perhaps lure her companion into her bed, or drive him insane. Hermione doubted that making such an effort would be worth any rewards. Severus Snape was not the type to be seduced by an outfit and whilst their last few meetings had certainly been civil, they had not been particularly friendly. It was obvious to her that the prospect of fatherhood terrified him and that his way of coping was to retreat into civility. He had approached the task of appointment making and arrangements with the same military precision that a general would use when planning a battle. It was something he had to do, not something he wanted to do.

Hermione looked at her watch – he was late. Very late. Which went against everything she ever knew of him. The sun was setting and she looked nervously back to the castle. She didn't like the idea of standing outside the castle alone. No matter how many times Harry had told her not to worry about Krum, she couldn't help herself. How did Harry know that Krum wouldn't come looking for her? He had promised her that he'd not killed Krum and she was uncomfortably aware that she wished he had. At least that way she could stop looking over her shoulder every five minutes.

She shivered under the cloak and clutched her bag a little tighter. Had she known Severus was going to be late she would have taken the time to re-pack her bag. She knew full well that Lavender had exchanged her pajamas for some scrap of silk and all of her comfortable underwear for little lacy things. Hermione had been supremely annoyed. Aside from the obvious implications, she liked her cotton underwear and she liked her Pooh Bear pajamas, why couldn't Lavender just accept it?

Besides, she was pregnant and wasn't comfort more of a priority than sexual allure when you were pregnant? Not that she looked pregnant. She had developed the smallest of belly's, but it didn't look out of place or unbecoming. She had also developed a fabulous cleavage seemingly overnight – not that anyone had noticed, as she'd kept her shirts securely buttoned up and her robes clasped – Lavender thought it all a terrible waste.

"I'm sorry," Severus came running down the path from the castle towards her, "I got held up at Staff Meeting. That stupid Sprout woman was carrying on saying that someone had killed all of her Snapping Lilliums and it just had to be a Slytherin student. Of course she doesn't know exactly who it was, but it _had_ to be a Slytherin…" he stopped, realizing that she probably had no interest what so ever in his gripe with the Herbology Professor.

He was of course wrong in that assumption. Hermione would have sat down and listened to him complain about his day for hours on end. Especially if they were settled in front of a fire and she could perhaps give him a neck rub and they were living happily ever after.

She shook her head and dispensed with the fantasy. She smiled nervously.

"How do you feel?" He eyed the area of her cloak that concealed her belly.

"I'm okay…a little cold."

"It'll be warmer in London." He really was not good at small talk, and so he looked away, suddenly finding the castle wall incredibly interesting.

Hermione looked at him openly, taking in the whole of the man he was. He too was wearing a travel cloak, and he appeared to have worn Muggle clothing under it, something she knew would have pained him. She could see a glimpse of wool and what looked suspiciously like corduroy. He was holding a battered black carry on bag and he changed hands so that he could pull out his wand to hail the bus.

"I'm really not looking forward to this," she laughed nervously.

"It'll be fine, I'm sure that St Mungo's will be very professional."

"I was talking about the bus ride."

"Oh." The ivy on the castle wall was looking particularly green this evening.

Hermione rocked back and forward on her feet, wondering what else she could say. Something to take her mind off the fact that she was about to go to London with her Potions Master; ex-lover, to check the progress of her accidental pregnancy. Oh yeah, her life was going along fabulously.

She was saved from having to speak by the violent purple bus seeming to burst out of nowhere and screech to a halt in from of them, spraying both their cloaks with mud and causing them both to swear bluntly. Severus reached for Hermione's bag and she released it willingly as Stan Shunpike leaned lazily against the door frame and began his usual spiel, reciting it as though he had learned it by rote and had no real interest in his new passengers at all.

Severus ignored him, protectively ushering Hermione up the step and on to the bus itself. Stan didn't even notice that his passengers were on board until Severus roughly shoved the bags at him. And then he couldn't help but gape in a combination of horror and shock. He could have happily lived his entire life without seeing Professor Severus Snape ever again, and now here the old buzzard was, on the bus…his bus. Why was he catching the bus? Without thinking he squeaked out, "Professor Snape!" and then instantly regretted it when Snape turned a critical eye on the acne faced conductor.

In all honesty Snape could not remember who Stan Shunpike was, which was a fairly good indicator that; at school at least, Shunpike had been a reasonable student who neither excelled at anything nor caused him any trouble. Snape looked into Stan's eyes, plucked his name from his mind and grunted, "Shunpike."

Stan could not seem to draw his gaze from his old Potions Master, the last person he ever expected to climb aboard the Knight Bus. He didn't even notice that he had two passengers and not one.

"Two tickets, London, Grimmauld Place," Snape muttered sharply.

Stan snapped out of his stupor and his eyes instantly flicked from Snape to Hermione and his eyes widened. Hermione he did recognize. She had caught the bus a few times; a friend of Harry Potter's, about 18 years old and getting on the bus with professor Snape – and they both had Muggle clothes on under their robes. Stan's mind made a leap of faith and came up with something that he would have been shocked to find was rather accurate. "Going away for the weekend then, Professor?"

"How much does it usually cost to make this journey without the questions?" Snape growled.

Stan's eyebrows shot up into his fringe and he began to suspect that his thought (that the pair were off for a dirty weekend) might actually be correct. "There are sleepers on the upper decks Professor, but it's still seating down here. Where would you like to sit, Sir?"

Severus knew the bus well enough to know that they wouldn't wait for them to reach the upper decks before taking off and he didn't want to risk Hermione falling over – and it was still early, so they wouldn't want to sleep anyway. "Down here is fine."

Stan tried a lopsided grin, but the idea of having Snape on the bus had caused his day to become just that little bit worse, though having said that, his love of fresh gossip was working overtime, and all of it was focused on why Snape was on the bus with this girl. He allowed the strange pair to shuffle down the isle and find two armchairs near the front, then he ambled to the front himself and banged on the partition window and saying loudly "London Ern, Grimmauld Place". He then turned and grinned as the bus shot off into the oncoming night.

Hermione's stomach gave a lurch and both chairs slid forward a little.

Stan leaned easily against the window and picked his teeth; "Hot Chocolate? Cup of tea?"

Severus tried to be formal, but his own stomach had started to churn and he looked at Hermione and managed to get out, "do you want anything?"

Hermione really didn't think that her stomach was going to stand up to actually drinking anything on the bus. She dug her fingers into the arm of her chair and gulped, "no thank you," as she felt the blood draining from her face.

"Just the tickets," Snape said, directing this to Stan and worrying a little over the knowledge that Hermione was not going to take this ride well.

Stan gave one last look before issuing the tickets and pushing himself off the window and turning to at least pretend that he was focusing his attention on Ern and the road ahead.

Severus turned _his_ attention to Hermione, "are you alright?"

She tried to smile reassuringly. "I…" she swallowed thickly as the bus rounded a corner and stopped suddenly, sending the chairs skidding forward violently. Snape grabbed the arm of Hermione's chair, ensuring that she didn't end up at the other side of the bus. He hadn't ridden the Knight Bus since he was a child – and it appeared that Ern's driving had not improved.

Several people climbed aboard and mounted the stairs to the upper deck as the bus took off at full pace once again.

"Oh God, does he have to drive like that?" Hermione groaned.

"He always has," Snape replied.

"Doesn't make it right," she gasped, suppressing a burp, "every time I ride this thing I get sick."

As they rounded another bend the countryside became little more than a dark blur and Snape's churning stomach was beginning to instigate itself more forcefully. He felt sick but he wasn't sure what was causing it, Ern's driving or the fact that he was getting closer to London and thus confirmation of his role as father to be.

He decided it was probably Ern's driving, and he should have tried to find something more suitable to travel in. After all, Hogwarts had carriages, and he should have been able to borrow one. Dumbledore had not been entirely happy about Hermione's…condition. Still, by punishing Severus he was also punishing Hermione. Snape decided he would hire something in Diagon Alley to get them back to the castle.

There were several stops to make before they reached the outskirts of London and any conversation they might have had was stilted in the face of their motion sickness and Stan Shunpike watching them with unguarded interest. When the bus finally stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron they both breathed out with relief. They were much closer to escaping, with only a few more stops before they could get off the bus and let their stomachs settle.

Irrationally Snape felt hungry, which seemed to fly in the face of his current predicament. He wondered what she wanted for dinner.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked as the bus took off again. Hermione felt as though she had been sitting there for hours and was surprised when Severus told her it was a little after eight o'clock in the evening. They'd only been on the bus for a little over forty-five minutes, not the multiple hours that it felt like.

When the bus came to a halt at the end of Grimmauld place they both climbed gratefully from the bus and took a few deep breaths. Stan Shunpike took one last suspicious look and the bus sped off out of sight.

Hermione stepped cautiously across the uneven cobblestones that lined the sides of the road, rummaging through her cloak for her keys to the house while Severus picked up the bags from where they had been dumped. As always, the rubbish bins seemed to be overflowing at every house on the street and the smell assaulted her nostrils, obliterating any relief from the incessant nausea that she may have felt when she got off the bus. She pulled the keys out of her pocket and stared at the row of houses until they shuddered and then slowly separated, revealing number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the pair of them to see.

She stared at the house for a long time, for some reason dreading the climb up the stairs. She absently turned the keys over in her fingers and stared at the door.

"Do you have the right keys?"

She jumped, his presence enveloping her. "Huh? Oh, yes…sorry, I was off in my own world." She stepped up to the house and unlocked the door, slipping inside as quietly as a thief as a matter of habit more than anything else. She didn't have to be so stealthy. Harry had told her that Draco had managed to coax old Mrs. Black off the wall, along with the family tree and they both now hung in some remote part of the Malfoy Manor where Mrs. Black was well and truly happy, surrounded by hundreds of portraits of Malfoy family ancestors.

But they were still quiet as they walked down the hall, passing the living room which had been redecorated for comforts sake and was hardly ever used, and heading to the kitchen. Despite the kitchen being dark and gloomy most people still gathered there. Harry had tried desperately to make the living room a place that visitors felt they could relax in, but they had all returned to the kitchen in the end.

Severus set the bags down by the hearth and pulled out his wand to light the fire. He didn't mind the kitchen; he'd been in worse. "Is this where you plan to live?" he asked, "I was led to believe that Potter had asked both you and Weasley to live here...does he still want that?"

Hermione nodded and warmed her fingers over the newly lit flames. "Yes, he's happy to have people here, and I don't think he wanted to be prowling around this place by himself."

Snape, who had always been alone, snorted with derogatory humor.

"Well you can't talk," she said crisply. "You've spent your entire adult life at Hogwarts, and you won't even live in your own house – and the Fenn is beautiful!"

He shut up at that, not wanting to admit that she was right – but he felt a well of hope opened in his stomach, she thought the Fenn was beautiful. The Fenn. Possibly the most unbeautiful place he could imagine. But then he was possibly biased on that score. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked irritably.

Hermione had not thought about dinner at all. She had considered eating before they left, but considering the bus ride she was very glad she didn't. "I don't know." She shrugged. She knew there was nothing in the house and she couldn't cook anyway. "We could go out."

"I was more thinking of the chip shop down the road," he admitted, "but we can go somewhere if you want to."

"Chips are fine."

"No, we'll go out, there has to be something around here."

Hermione seemed to recall that there was an Indian within walking distance, but now that he had mentioned chips she was warming to the idea. "Actually." She smiled. "Chips sound really good."

He felt a warm pleasure flow into the well in his stomach, he'd managed to make her smile. "Chips it is then." He tried a tentative smile of his own and slipped his cloak off, hanging it over the back of a chair.

She smiled again. He looked so sweet in Muggle clothes, like her odd uncle who routinely got dressed in the dark. She wasn't going to tell him that though. She watched as he rummaged through his pockets, looking for his wallet and when he found it she watched as he checked the money in it. She was surprised that he knew anything about Muggle money, as most Pureblood Wizards didn't have any idea of Muggle money's worth. The idea that paper could be traded for anything at all was ludicrous to a society that placed their trust in gold, silver and bronze.

"Do you want anything other than chips?"

She made a soft humming noise as she considered the question and then looked at him with large wheedling eyes; "Umm, a piece of battered hake…and some mushy peas."

"Oh Gods, how can you eat mushy peas?"

"I have no idea, I just want them tonight."

He looked slightly disgusted, this must be the notorious cravings he had heard so much about. It had to be, because it would be a cold day in the nether regions of hell before he ate mushy peas. He shoved the wallet into his back pocket, absently ran his hand through his greasy hair and told her to find plates and the like while he went to get food.

He took longer than either of them expected. He'd found the chip shop with no problems, but had also found a Europa store open across the road and decided that purchasing food for the next day was a good idea. He did not like to entertain the idea of starting his day without his morning coffee, and he knew that she needed to eat, so by the time he arrived back at the house he was laden down with simple basics such as bread butter and milk as well as fruit and juice and; to Hermione's delight, chocolate, biscuits and ice-cream.

They ate, keeping up a friendly banter. She had almost forgotten how easy he could be to speak to and as long as she avoided the topic of the child he seemed to relax no end. They discussed the upcoming exams. He thought she would do well, Lavender's idea for opening a perfume store (he thought the idea was ridiculous, and who would pay good money for a scent they could make themselves?), and Harry and Draco's break up. He was; quietly, unashamedly happy about it, but he did admit that Draco was not handling it well, and when pushed, he reluctantly agreed that perhaps they would be better off together.

Once dinner was finished and the dishes washed and cleared away (neither of them were particularly good at household charms so they did it the Muggle way), thoughts automatically turned to what they were going to do for the remainder of the night. It seemed too early to go to bed and although Hermione was a little tired, she was reluctant to go to sleep. It had been a long time since she'd been able to just sit and talk to him, and it felt good. Good to just sit there with him and talk about something other than school work. Good to feel close to him, as though he was still the lover he had once been.

Also, the topic of sleeping arrangements had not yet been discussed and he had no idea where any of the guest rooms were. She should really tell him, or show him, but once again, she was reluctant to do so.

He was planning to just follow her upstairs and wing it from there, and he figured there had to be some room he could sleep in, even if it was Potter's or Weasley's.

"What about a game?" Hermione asked at last. She could have suggested television, as they'd had one installed over the summer, but the reception was impossibly bad because of all the wards on the house – and when they could get a decent picture they all agreed that there was nothing decent to watch anyway. Harry had gone out and purchased a video and they were amassing a decent collection, but she seriously doubted that Severus would be interested in watching any Muggle melodrama.

"What kind of game?" Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow, as his experience of games as a youth had been limited and had almost universally ended in him being the butt of some joke or other.

"A board game," she explained, "Harry went crazy over them in the summer and bought heaps. How about Scrabble?"

"Scrabble?" he scowled, "never heard of it."

Hermione was momentarily dumbstruck, the same way she had been when Harry had confessed that he had never played the game - the fact that Ron hadn't played either seemed inconsequential, but for some reason she equated playing board games with a good home life. "What do you mean you've never heard of it? Scrabble is one of those universal games, everyone has played it, like Monopoly!"

He actually laughed at that, "I've never heard of Monopoly either Hermione. Board games don't usually grace Wizarding homes."

"Why not?" she asked indignantly, "what kind of games did you play as a child?"

He looked uncomfortable. "My family weren't particularly fond of games," he said stiffly, "not the kind that children play anyway."

"Did you play any games?"

"Not really. I could play that game that Muggles play with cards…solitaire."

Hermione felt a pang.

"And on the rare occasions that my father had guests over, and if those guests had children, I would play with them…but I can't remember what we played," _'wouldn't remember more like,'_ "oh, and Lucius let me join in with him some times, but he was a lot older than I was so I didn't get most of it.' He smiled at one memory, "I remember when I was seven and he was fourteen, he would get these Muggle girls from the village and we would play hide and seek. He would send me off to hide and I always thought I was doing so well because he would never find me. Then one day I found out he was shagging the girls and he just wanted to get rid of me for an extended period of time." He stopped suddenly as it was not such a happy memory after all. _By the Gods, I'm a walking disaster zone_. "You said you wanted to play Scrabble?"

Hermione tried to dismiss the swell of compassion that was building in her, knowing full well that he wouldn't want it. She couldn't help but ask the question however; "but what about your parents, they must have played some games with you?"

"My mother was too busy trying to please my father to play games with a child," he said blandly, staring at the coffee that he'd made and deciding that he no longer wanted it. "And my father was not the bonding type."

Hermione sipped her own coffee and thought about her own happy childhood. Her parents had always been there to support and encourage her despite her various oddities and her strange ability to make things happen. When her Hogwarts letter came they had taken the news in their stride, accepting that their daughter was never going to be what was considered normal. Her memories of her childhood were fond ones, interrupted by the war, but fond none the less.

"Didn't you do anything as a family," she asked, seemingly unable to keep her mouth shut. "Camping? Barbeques? Going to the beach?"

He stared at her, wondering of she had actually looked at him lately. Did he honestly look like someone who had ever been to the beach? "Um…no, I was lucky if my father slapped me on the back of the head when he saw me." His mouth slashed into a sardonic smile and he sat himself down on the hearth. "My parents' marriage was not the usual Pureblood affair."

Hermione sat beside him, tucked her legs up and settled a little closer to him; "your mother wasn't a Pureblood?"

"Oh, no, she was," he replied hastily and then relaxed a little, closed his eyes and leant his head back against the warm bricks of the fireplace. She was going to make him exhume old memories and he wasn't sure that it was such a good idea to let her. Then again, she wasn't forcing him to speak, so perhaps he wanted to tell her things…but these things? These memories were ones he had never told anyone, and with good reason. He released a tight breath and ploughed on regardless. "My parents got married because they had an affair and my mother got pregnant. My father's marriage had already been arranged but he was forced to marry my mother because of me."

"But if your mother was a Pureblood, why was it so bad?"

"Because, Hermione, she was from a family quite similar to the Weasley's, no money and one of ten siblings, and her father was a bit of a nuttter. The woman my father was supposed to marry was from a wealthy family and was supposed to lift the Snape family fortune. When I was born he saw me at best as an inconvenience and at worst as the thing that ruined his life. Every time he looked at me he'd see the consequence of the mistake he had made, and the price he had to pay."

Hermione was looking horrified, "but…I'm sure he loved you."

Harsh laughter escaped him, "Hermione, you can't get me to say he was a good man without lying. No, he didn't love me, he never said _'I love you'_ or anything like it. In fact, he spent a lot of his time telling me just how much I disappointed him and when he screamed at my mother he generally used me as an example of just how crap his life had ended up being. My father was exceptionally good at degradation and insults; where do you think I learned my skills?"

"But…"

"Hermione, shut up!" He rolled his eyes exasperated. "My father makes Potter's uncle look like jolly old St Nick! If you want proof I can recount story after story after story, but there is no real point. And why do you care anyway?"

"Because I want to understand. How could your own parents hate you?"

"Very easily. I'm very hateable."

"That's not funny!" Hermione scowled and turned to stare into the flames. "You must have some happy memory from your childhood."

"Alright then," he looked thoughtful and more than a little sarcastic, "every year the Malfoys'; who as you know lived next door, had this big garden party and invited all the best families from the Wizarding world. Merlin knows why they bothered inviting us, but they did, every year. Anyway, one year I had taught myself some stupid charm and I wanted to show Lucius and of course I bungled it in front of the entire party. My father, salt of the earth that he was, started ranting about what an idiot I was, and it escalated from there. After about five minutes he was yelling and shaking me like I was a rag doll and my mother watched from the drinks table while she had a fresh drink made and some canapés brought up. When someone tried to intervene, I think they said something like, "he's only a boy, and it was a very complicated charm," my father grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and took me home. When my mother came home they spent the rest of the night arguing over whose fault it was that I was such a failure. That was my childhood, that one story sums the whole thing up." He stood up, picked up the poker and jabbed viciously at the fire. "The only time I can remember my father having a good word to say to me was when he discovered that I had an uncanny knack for hexes. I was a student at Hogwarts when he died, and when the news came I read my letter, finished my breakfast and wondered how I was going to get to Arithmancy without running into Potter or Black. That was how much I cared."

"What about your mother?" Hermione was almost afraid to ask, but for some reason she needed to know.

"She died four years ago. Dumbledore organized a funeral and I attended at the last minute. I wanted to make sure they put her in the ground – and covered her up."

He heard her sigh regretfully from the hearth stone, "Severus…"

"Don't! I've already heard every sympathetic noise a person can make when it comes to the topic of my family." His grip on the poker tightened and he began to grind his teeth. He had come to terms with the harsh reality of his upbringing a long time ago, and he never usually thought about it. But now, now that he was going to be a father himself, he couldn't help but dwell on it. He was so much like his father, an ironic twist of fate to be sure, but a reality none the less. His childhood had made him strong and adaptable as well as spiteful, it had given him his calm exterior as well as well as his cruelty. In short, had it not been for his upbringing he probably would have been useless as a spy.

"I guess it wasn't ideal," Hermione said with an ache in her voice. It was an ache that matched the one in his chest.

"Not a good training ground for parenthood is it?" He looked at her squarely then, and allowed his gaze to fall to her stomach. "I don't like children," he said quietly, "they annoy me and they fear me and I like it that way…actually I don't like people in general."

Hermione bowed her head and instinctively rubbed her small belly. She didn't understand the cycle of it. She didn't understand how it was possible that his father had shamed and humiliated him because he thought his son weak, and now Severus did exactly the same thing to the likes of Neville Longbottom – or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his path. Where would the cycle end? Would it end? Perhaps it was best that he should have nothing to do with her child.

But another part of her trusted him and truly believed that; given the chance, he would be a good father. She didn't know why, she knew no real good of him in that respect, but it was just a feeling that coursed through her as strong as a rip tide.

She cleared her throat. "It will be different with your own child."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do."

He laughed and shook his head. "The idea of raising a child scares me half to death," he admitted.

"It scares me too, Severus. All I can do is try…and so can you."

Once again he jabbed the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney. He could try, but what a thing to experiment on! A child, _his_ child. What if he fucked up and turned out to be every bit as horrific as his own father had been?

She stepped up behind him and pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was a warmth more comforting than the fire in the grate. She rested her cheek against his back and slowly began to stroke his chest and belly through his jumper. The gentle movements seemed to soothe the upheaval in his gut.

"I know you can do it because I know you," she whispered.

He twined his fingers with hers and he lifted her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm and then moved himself around in her arms until he could hold her in his own. He considered that perhaps she was the one who was truly mad, perhaps madder than Regina. She cared about him more than he thought anyone could possibly care. Suddenly, it seemed stupid to be apart from someone who could love him that much.

But what Hermione thought or felt was vastly different to the reality. "Hermione, I'm not capable of loving someone the way you want me to. I'm not gentle. I'm not a _good_ man."

"I've seen you be gentle, and I've seen you be a good man."

He laughed, actually smiling at her innocence, the way she believed what she was saying; "I'm gentle with you…"

"And Minerva, and Draco…"

"People I care about," he finished, "but that is all. I'm good at watching over people, I watch, I spy…and lately I try to protect."

"You can protect me," she murmured, "you can watch over me."

He smiled at her. "You don't need anyone to watch over you, you're fearless."

"No I'm not, the baby scares me. I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life and I spend every day terrified that Viktor is going to come after me."

"You don't have to worry about Mr. Krum, as he is no longer a problem."

Hermione frowned. "What have you done?"

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with." He pulled away from her.

"But Harry knows?" she asked, not letting him go. "He said not to worry either, what have both of you done?"

"Nothing that Mr. Krum didn't deserve, and I believe it is a secret best kept between Potter and myself."

"So you and Harry are suddenly sharing secrets?"

"Only ones of necessity."

"Did you kill Viktor?" She was afraid of the answer, but she wanted to know.

He smiled again, a self assured smile, as though he was back on his own territory, dealing with facts not emotions. "Would it matter if I had?"

She considered the question and then shocked herself with her answer; "no, it wouldn't matter."

"Then feel free to think the worst."

She swallowed; "and what about Harry? What part did Harry play?"

"Potter surprised me." He pushed a shank of hair back from her face, "you see, that's how I protect people, I eliminate the problem."

"I don't care, I still love you."

"Silly girl."

"No, I'm a lucky girl."

He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Go to bed Hermione, it's been a long day."

She sighed regretfully and let him go, turning away from him. "What about you?"

"I'll find somewhere to sleep later."

"I'm the next level up, I have Pooh Bear on my door."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes, heaven preserve him from her obsession with that infernal bear. "Go to bed."

She walked away saying softly; "goodnight Severus."

*******

 _Continued_


	49. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 6

**Chapter 18 – Part 6**

~~~~

Draco slammed the door of his bed chamber with such force that several books fell from the shelf and Miss Kitty leapt into the air with a shriek.

"There is something seriously wrong with me," he declared to the small cat, "I am fucked in the fucking head!"

Miss Kitty tilted her own head and mewed, she then stretched lazily and yawned before padding across to him and rubbing herself against his leg. Draco bent down and picked her up, lifting her so that he could look her in the eye.

"Why can't I get over that son of a bitch?"

Miss Kitty swatted playfully at his face and he dumped her on the duvet. He then crouched down and pulled a bottle out from under his bed. He had never been a fan of Firewhiskey, until he discovered that they delivered it. A large muscular looking owl arrived most mornings with his daily supply and he considered it a close friend.

Not that he had a particular problem with going out and buying his alcohol in person, but he had to study, and Miss Kitty was far too young to be left alone at night.

He fished a glass out of the nightstand and poured himself a generous draught. He refused to drink it straight from the bottle, as to do so would be like admitting to alcoholism and he wasn't that far gone yet.

Fucking Harry. The bastard had a way of looking at Draco with a foul look of pity and Draco had a habit of wanting to throw himself at his feet and beg forgiveness. Which was pathetic in the extreme _and_ it wouldn't work anyway – which just wasn't fair!

And he just couldn't seem to get over Harry and he just couldn't understand why. Why couldn't he walk away? What he should do is go out and screw someone new. A nice woman with soft hips and big tits. No hard angles like Harry. A big soft woman!

Maybe he could proposition Lavender, she was always up for fun. Or maybe Ginny Weasley. She'd do it to get back at Harry. They could fuck each other and get back at Harry at the same time.

He downed his whiskey and poured another larger one. Then he took the bottle to bed with him.

He should study. Exams were in a matter of weeks and he had to study. But he _had_ been studying. He'd studying every night. If studying counted for anything he was on the fast track to being to greatest Wizard of all time. But studying was not getting Harry back…and neither was drinking himself to death.

"My life sucks." He'd been saying that a lot lately.

He'd had an idea a while back; it seemed like months ago, and could well have been that long. Give Harry the Pensieve he'd wanted. Give him the Pensieve and hope he understood. Above everything he wanted Harry to understand that he was not some cold blooded prick who did not comprehend pain and suffering. Then again, he could just forget the Pensieve and go and screw a woman with great big tits.

The rational part of his brain was winning at the moment. Give the Pensieve to Harry and not expect anything to come from it, except the blind hope that Harry would understand. He could find a bowl easily enough. Hogsmeade sold anything and everything that a Wizard could possibly require. He could find one there, do whatever he needed to do to get the memory into the bowl and give it to Harry. He could leave it in Harry's room and let natural curiosity do the rest.

"What do you think of that idea?" Draco just assumed Miss Kitty could hear his thoughts. What kind of a pet would she be if she couldn't? She yawned and settled into Draco's lap.

He could give Harry the Pensieve just because Harry had wanted it. It could be a parting gift. They would be leaving school soon and Draco would never have to see Harry ever again. It would be like a final goodbye.

And maybe; if he was very lucky, Harry might just forgive him.

*******  
It was one thing being told to go to bed, it was another thing entirely to be able to get to sleep. Hermione had opened her bag to discover that Lavender had done far more than switch her comfortable underwear. Hermione's pajamas were no where to be seen. In their place Hermione found a deep red negligee with a plunging neck line that seemed to force her newly enlarged breasts up and out. She felt like one of the prostitutes that went in and out of Madam Louisa's in Hogsmeade.

That was a pretty far fetched leap of logic, as the negligee was pure silk and actually very beautiful, Hermione just really loved her old, comfortable and warm pajamas – and the negligee was completely inappropriate for this London visit. It was not a pleasure trip, they were here to deal with her pregnancy.

She was dreading the next day. Going to St Mungo's would confirm that the baby was going to be part of her future. At the moment she knew it was there, but it didn't seem official yet – and while it wasn't official she figured that she could ignore it. Not that the sickness, sore breasts and constant tiredness was something she could easily ignore, but it was easier to ignore it than admit that her life was about to be changed forever.

And now she found herself lying in her bed at Grimmauld Place in a sexy negligee with the man she wanted downstairs and a baby in her belly – and she was expected to sleep. She was tired, but she could not close her eyes without feeling the intense fear of the child and her uncertain future. She could not turn over without thinking about Severus and wanting to go back down to him.

She had tried counting. It usually worked; she had never once reached one hundred, but tonight she had, and she'd even gone beyond two hundred. With a huff of frustration, she'd finally given it away because it wasn't making an ounce of difference. She curled on her side and stared into the darkness, wanting to do something other than coping with this.

The door squeaked as it opened and she jumped involuntarily and then lay still, tense and expectant as a familiar silhouette slipped into the room.

"Severus?"

"I thought you'd be asleep."

"I can't seem to get there."

He walked around the bed until he was behind her and she heard the sound of his bag being dropped to the floor. She held her breath, wondering if he was planning to sleep here. She half expected him to bunk down on the floor.

"Can you open the window a little," she asked, hoping to get the answer she desperately wanted, "before you come to bed?"

He didn't say a word, but she heard the curtains being opened and the window being opened. She still didn't move; her ears strained, listening for any sound that might give her hope. His bag was opened and there was a rustling of fabric – and then silently he slipped into the bed behind her.

She shivered, waiting, but he didn't touch her, and she lay there, as though she was waiting for an eternity before she finally rolled onto her back and tried to focus on him in the darkness. She could make him out, when he had opened the curtains he had allowed the street light from outside to light the room a little, and she could see him – just. He was on his side, head propped up on his hand, staring at her in silence. She could see his eyes shining black in the dark.

"You smell good," she whispered and then cringed at the stupidity of the statement.

"So do you," he replied and she was horrified to note a tone of amusement in his voice.

She blinked and contemplated throwing him out. But she had ached for him to be in bed beside her for so long, and now that he was she could feel the warmth of his body spreading through her. She moved a little until she could feel him against her, snuggling up cozily to him so that her side was pressed against his front. He was wearing a nightshirt, some kind of scratchy cotton that irritated the flesh of her arm.

He sighed softly and pulled her closer, his hand slipping down the satin nightgown, skimming across her stomach and gently caressing her hip. "This feels nice." His hand slid down her thigh, "Did I buy this?"

"Yes…" she was shaking, gooseflesh spreading over her body, "just after New Year." She flushed in the dark. She had never worn it for him because he had bought her so many nightgowns, flimsy things that made her look so much more sensual than she honestly felt. He hated her pajamas and she knew it, and given half a chance he would have banished them away for ever. "Lavender stole all my underpants, she swapped them all for these little tiny ones that…" her breath hitched as she felt a finger run up her thigh.

She felt his chest vibrate with a chuckle as he crooned, "remind me to thank Miss Brown then."

"I thought you said we couldn't…" Hermione caught herself a moment too late, wondering why exactly she was protesting, and when he pulled his hand away with a sigh she thought she'd lost him again.

"Things change," he said carefully, not particularly wanting to recant everything that he had said in the past, knowing that to do so would be tantamount to admitting that he was wrong – and he didn't think he was.

"I don't want to wake up in the morning to find you beating yourself up and having the whole situation worse than it already is." Hermione drew a breath and pushed on, "if you're only going to leave me then I don't want this to happen at all."

"I'm not going anywhere, I'm yours for as long as you want me." And there it was, surprisingly easy considering that he had spent a life time avoiding being close to anyone. Things had changed, and he had only ever wanted to make her happy. Now it seemed he had worked out what everyone else already knew – that being with her would make Hermione happy. The fact that it would also make him happy seemed like some impossibly wonderful side effect that he'd never thought could happen.

Then again, it could all fall apart – but not today.

He kissed her lightly, instinctively finding her mouth with his own and feeling her shudder under his touch.

Hermione sighed, arching herself up to him as his tongue ran traced the line of her throat. Her murmured something to her that she couldn't understand and then his lips kissed the tops of her breasts through the flimsy negligee. She was instantly awash with the most compelling of needs, swimming with molten desire. When he momentarily lifted his mouth she whimpered with despair until he squeezed one of her breasts lustfully, using his thumb to rub the luxurious fabric across the acutely sensitive peak.

"You like that?"

Hermione couldn't respond with anything other than an incoherent "Oh God…" and a thick lock of hair slipped across her face as she arched up further into his grasp. Again his hand closed over her breast. She felt as though a bolt of lightening had slashed through her, searing and hot and leaving in its wake an incredible awareness of her body. Even the soles of her feet tingled. She had missed this. The build of excitement, and the way his touch could take her breath away.

He stroked the length of her, throwing the blankets off the bed and pushing her nightgown up roughly so that it bunched around her waist. Then he growled something, sounding frustrated and for a moment he stopped touching her and sat up. She frowned, wondering what he was doing as he fumbled around the bedside table.

"Lumos"

A dim light filled the room and she began to laugh as he returned the wand, hers not his, to the table. He smiled devilishly and returned to his task, reasoning that it was so much better when he could see what he was doing. His eyes widened and narrowed, fueled with intent. Gently he ran his finger tips down her thighs, causing her flesh to shiver and she gazed down the length of herself, anticipating what he was going to do next.

"These are the tiniest pair of knickers that I've ever seen," his voice was hoarse and he was silently praising Lavender Brown, ascribing her with a wondrous Godlike status or perhaps adorning her with jewels for her foresight.

Hermione couldn't contain her want any longer, instinctively she pushed her hips towards him, aching for him. "Touch me," she urged, "please, just touch me."

He moved so that he had almost mounted her, skimming his fingers over her smooth belly until he could slip them deftly under the triangle of dark red lace and tangle them in the silky hair that lay within. His hand cupped her mound intimately and firmly, but for the moment he resisted the urge to move his fingers. He let himself enjoy the heat of her and the way she breathed so heavily and moaned so softly, lifting her hips up to him as though to urge him deeper.

Hermione clawed at his shoulders, straining upward in her need for him, her desire pooling in her until the months of yearning and frustration were brought into sharp focus and centered on the touch of that hand between her thighs. His eyes were boring into her, fathomless black and filled with the same desire that filled her. She whimpered at his look, and then lost any reservations she may still have harbored and begged him shamelessly to take her.

His face, so hard and lean was held so close to hers that she could not look away. Severus did not change his expression even as two of his long fingers slipped inside her, sliding over her clitoris and seeking the wet heat of her depths. She drew breath sharply, her fingers digging harder into his shoulders, her gaze never leaving his.

He made a soothing noise but continued to work his fingers in and out of her and by way of reward her thighs parted wantonly. Hermione was spreading herself out for him as she thrust her hips up to his hand and instinctively wanted more of him inside her.

But she knew he would tease her and she couldn't stand such exquisite torture. She would die of pleasure, she knew it. She remained unblinking, her eyes never leaving his as the first convulsive waves of her orgasm approached too rapidly for doubt or question. The ecstasy of it broke full force inside her and she had no choice but to succumb, her entire body quaking under his touch as she looked into the liquid black pools of his eyes.

Finally the tremors subsided and she was able to look away, part of her hating him for the ease in which he brought her to climax – and for making her go through it alone. Where had his own passion been? The thought was a fleeting one, she turned her face so that her cheek could brush against the soft cotton of the pillow slip, so that she could catch her breath for a moment. Then finally she came to her senses and looked back to him, wanting to watch him now, wanting to see him lose control as she had.

He had moved his attention from her face and was looking down the length of her body with some pleasure. She wished he was naked so that she could more plainly see his arousal. She knew that he was aroused, she could feel him pressed against her leg and his cheek was infused with rare color, but otherwise he seemed to be in complete control of himself and she wanted nothing more than to hear him cry out in orgasm.

"Let's get rid of these," he said, his gaze lingering on her groin and the tiny pair of panties she was wearing. His hand slid down, taking the panties with it, but at her knees he stopped, unable to go further without moving.

A renewed desire surged through Hermione and she found that her impatience to have him inside her became an overwhelming wave. "Rip them," she urged, her impatience suddenly manifesting itself in her hands as she began to claw at the ugly nightshirt he was wearing.

He struggled to remove the offending garment, his insistent throbbing erection reason enough for haste. At the same time he tugged hard at her panties, reasoning that they were a scrap of lace and should be easy enough to tear. They weren't. For something so small they were surprisingly resilient. He tugged again and was suddenly lost in the worn cotton of his nightshirt as she succeeded in pulling it over his head.

And then he was stuck. He couldn't help himself, unable to see or move and certainly unable to tug her panties any further, he began to laugh.

"It's not funny!" Hermione protested, but she could suddenly see the funny side of it as she desperately tried to untwist the nightshirt so that she could free him. When she finally pulled the shirt away she could not help but be warmed by the smile on his face.

He pulled away momentarily to extricate himself fully from his nightclothes and then returned, still smiling and blissfully naked.

"You shouldn't have had it on anyway," she reasoned.

"I was trying to be subtle."

"You should have just come in and ravaged me."

"I thought that was what I was doing," he replied with mock indignance.

She chuckled, "well hurry up and tear those panties!"

He rolled his eyes; she just had to insist, and it was most definitely a job for both hands. He grabbed the panties and pulled hard – and felt them give with a satisfying rip. He threw the scraps of blood red lace over his shoulder with careless extravagance and then spread her legs with a movement so swift that it bordered on impatience.

Hermione's eyelids flew open wide and all humor was gone in a startled lust soaked gasp as he reached down to open her wider. With a smooth lunge; forced by his anticipation and desperation for her, Severus buried himself deep into her moist clinging flesh.

He hesitated then, panting raggedly, his hair falling about his face in disarray.

Hermione measured her breathing, trying to stay calm as he filled her, and then, supporting herself by grasping his shoulders, she lifted her legs higher, causing her inner muscles to tighten and her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh…oh S-Severus…" She couldn't say anything more; she couldn't think straight, all she could understand was the feeling of him between her legs and the knowledge that it was him. That was all that mattered.

A loud groan burst from his throat. It really had been too long. He'd been dreaming of her, but his dreams did no justice to the pleasure of touching her, being with her, and of connecting inside her. She was so soft, her body was lithe beneath him and warm and wet around him. He couldn't hold himself back from her any more than he could staunch his growing ardor. He had been a fool to try and do without her. Surviving two wars, had that not been some kind of testament to some kind of worth on his part? Didn't he deserve some kind of happiness? He loved her, as inappropriate as many would find it; and indeed, he thought it inappropriate himself, and he honestly loved every part of her. He could not believe that there had been a time in his life when he did not love her.

With gentle hands she drew him down to her. "Deeper," she whispered and kissed him with soft lips, her tongue bold and eager to taste him, "I want to feel you…deep…in me."

He braced one foot against the bedpost and dug his knee into the mattress and used all the power his legs could muster to thrust up hard into her. She cried out, her lashes fluttering, her eyes rolling back a little. The palm of her left hand skimmed down his lean back to the hollow side of his buttock and it felt as though his skin was burning under her touch. "Yes," she panted, "Oh Gods Severus, like that…"

Severus felt desperate, frenzied. With his hands behind her knees he levered her higher so that he could push himself as deep into her as possible. He drove hungrily into her again and again and when he heard the tremulous cries of her climax he answered with his own explosive release, so strong that any fears he had that this was wrong were allayed.

He sank beside her, spent and satisfied. Lovingly he drew her to him, drawing blankets around her petite body. They were both confronted by a maelstrom of emotion that refused to be tamped back down. Rising above it all was a strange feeling of relief; they were here, together and they didn't have to part. He had surrendered and she had won – he savored her victory. He closed his eyes and held her close, fighting off any feeling of uncertainty. They were together, linked now not only by their overwhelming need for each other but by the child growing inside her.

He allowed himself to relax, shifting so that they were entwined comfortably around each other, both needing to sleep. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

*******  
"I see you have finally stopped waiting for that pathetic Elf to return."

Lucius jumped and his eyes flickered, hunting around for the Curator who had come through the door but was outside his field of vision. It was the first mention Semeuse had made of Non's disappearance and when the Curator finally walked around the bed Lucius could see why. Semeuse was disheveled, his hair in all directions, his skin sallow and a little grey.

"He's not coming back," Semeuse spat viciously, "you should have known I would find out. Imagine, trying to keep your spy here? Who did he report to? Your son? That greasy bastard at Hogwarts or that Muggle lover from the Ministry?"

Lucius said nothing. Semeuse had been drinking, and Lucius could smell the stale stench of alcohol oozing from his pores. The Curator was staggering dangerously, as though threatening to fall onto the bed and beat his Angel to a bloodied pulp.

"I have told you time and time again!" The Curator began pacing around the bed, a little like a predator waiting to pounce. He did not seem to be talking to Lucius at all, instead he seemed to be addressing himself and Lucius could do little more than follow him with worried eyes. "I've told you," he repeated, shaking his head, "why do you think you can beat me? Look at yourself Lucius, I give you everything, everything you could possibly want or need and still you push and push and push. You can't win. You can't escape me Lucius. You are _my_ Angel, nobody else's. You are _mine!_

How many of them are your spies? How many have you planted here? I will rid this place of every one of those disgusting little vermin. I'll destroy them all and you'll have nothing. Do you understand?"

Lucius couldn't nod, and he couldn't reply; he was lost for words. He wondered how long this rant would last and how fast the House Elves would abandon the museum once they realized what the Curator had in store for them.

Semeuse began to gnaw absently on a thumbnail. "You _should_ be grateful," he muttered, "you should be bloody grateful, you should be thanking me, you should _love me!_ Look at what I have done for you! But no, not you. You are an ungrateful Angel. You bring in parasites that infect my home and spread lies about me. But NO MORE!"

Lucius watched, impassive as always but knowing that Semeuse must have been stewing on this for a good long while.

"And that man! That man! They are saying he'll be _Minister!_ That Muggle loving fool, MINISTER! Take you away will he? _I'll_ take you away. You are not his, _YOU ARE MINE!_ "

 _Or perhaps something else had happened, something that Lucius had no idea of._

"How dare that man think that he can take what is mine. _That Elf._ That disgusting Elf, running around and spreading lies about me. _Your spy._ Now that man wants you – but he can't have you! He won't have you. He won't have either of you!"

 _Either of them?_ Lucius flinched, his hand fluttering on the coverlet and Semeuse noticed it and began to grin. He crawled up the bed towards Lucius, looking so much like a large demented...and drunken spider.

"That scares you, doesn't it? Something finally _scares you!_ But I'm taking you away from here, and we could hardly have it that you never saw him again now could we?" Spittle flew from his mouth and splattered across Lucius' cheek. "No, no, no, I'll have to take you both, take you both far away where no one can hurt you."

"But you said you'd leave him alone."

Semeuse laughed high and bitter, his eye gleaming with maniacal glee; "and so you finally speak my love, been holding back my Angel?"

"Leave Draco alone. We can be happy, just you and I."

Semeuse's grin twisted into a vicious sneer. "I won't listen to you any more my Angel. You speak poison into my brain! You plant vermin in my house. Vermin who tell lies and send men to take you away. Oh no my Angel, I won't hear another word, I will take you both, far far away."

Lucius returned the Curator's stare and hoped that the charm on Draco's new pet held out.

*******  
Morning came all too soon for Hermione, and with it came the familiar wave of nausea that she knew would last all day if she didn't take the potion he had made for her. She sat up and dry retched. The room was still dark and one look out of the still open window revealed the strange orange sky that was considered dark for London. It must be early still, still early enough for the sun to not have come up. She reached to the bedside table to find the bottle she had left there the night before and take a draught of it. Then she settled back and relaxed with the feel of the potion settling her stomach.

She had no doubt that she could go back to sleep. This was not Hogwarts and she could sleep in if she wanted to. Then again, the appointment at St Mungo's was reasonably early. She sighed and wriggled down into the warmth of the blankets. Beside her Severus mumbled something and rolled onto his back. It was such a natural thing to have him there that for a moment she thought nothing of it – and then she felt her face break into a wide grin. He was still there, sleeping beside her.

The memory of their love making last night came rushing back and she blinked and stared down at him. Gently she traced a single finger along his sharp collar bone and he shifted again and sighed and his eyes blinked open.

For a moment he seemed disorientated and then suddenly he yawned and stretched and collapsed into the pillows. "How long have you been awake?" he asked in a voice cracked from sleep.

"Not long, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright, I plan to be asleep again in about five minutes." He yawned again. "How do you feel?"

"Okay…good."

He rolled onto his side and thrilled her no end by pulling her to him and spooning around her back.

"What time is the appointment?" she asked. She should know the answer, but her brain was like a sieve of late and she was forgetting the simplest of things.

"Ten o'clock." He felt her tense and lazily petted the slope of her hip, "Don't worry, it'll be alright."

She turned to lie on her stomach and pushed herself up onto her elbows, "I'm not worried," she lied, "well not about the appointment so much."

He propped his head up on his own elbow and stared at her for a long time. She reached forward and brushed his hair back from his temple. "What are you worried about?" He asked at last, although he had a growing suspicion of what her answer would be.

"What happens next," she answered, forcing herself to voice it at last, "I can imagine going through the pregnancy," she hesitated before admitting, "I tried to get rid of it at first, but I just couldn't do it…"

It didn't shock or offend him, had the positions been reversed he could imagine that he would have done the same thing – he doubted he would have backed out though.

"I can't help thinking about what happens after I have it?" She continued, "I don't know what you want or if you want anything to do with it. At first I thought I would just deal with it, and it would be my child. I know that I can live here, and Harry will look after me; he's said as much, but now I don't know. I wanted so much more than this. I wanted you as part of my life and now I keep thinking that if you choose to stay then you would only do it as part of some obligation on your part. Then there are the things I had planned to do with my future…"

"And now you think you can't do things?"

"I wanted to train to be a teacher or a healer, and I can't see myself doing those things now."

"Many Witches have children and careers, Hermione."

"I know," she faltered, "but they are usually…older…more settled…"

"Married?"

She flushed and fell silent. It was ridiculous, because she didn't need to be married. They were all heading towards a brand new century and she shouldn't be worried about that kind of security. She was resilient and resourceful, so why didn't she feel it now?

"You still plan to live here?" he asked.

"Yes…" she shrugged and wished he would suggest otherwise, "It's close to everything, Diagon Alley, that sort of thing."

"Most Wizards don't feel the need to inhabit the cities," he pointed out, "most of our kind prefer remote areas, closer to nature and away from prying Muggle eyes."

She knew this was true, but in reality her choices were limited. She did not have a vault full of gold at Gringotts. She was still a student, and she had nothing at all. As much as she loved her family she had no inclination to live with them, and at least here she would be with her friends, her own kind who understood her. "I have nowhere else to go," she said plainly, "I know that nature is a central force to us but I have no means to be there. At least here I know what I am doing and I'll be safe."

"You could," he paused, they had discussed this before but it was so long ago now, it seemed an age had passed since their last conversation about this, "you could still come to the Fenn."

She looked at him sharply from the corner of her eye. "The Fenn? Alone?"

"I'd go there too. There is no hard and fast rule that suggests I have to live at the castle and situations change."

"So you'd live with me…and the baby?"

"I can see logic in the arrangement."

Hermione frowned. He saw logic in it? Logic? "And what else?" she asked, "aside from logic?"

"What else do you want?" He asked, moving to sit up a little, "It would be convenient, I could look after you, support the child…"

"But what else?" Hermione persisted, "I told you that I didn't want this to be some sort of sacrifice for you. I certainly don't want to be shifted into your house because it is convenient that way!"

"Then what do you want?" he asked exasperated, "A marriage certificate to prove that I'm serious? I can probably give you that too, but I can't give you the whole world, Hermione."

"Well what about love?" She countered, "what about wanting to live with me because you love me and you want to be with me? What about you wanting to have a life with me and _our_ child?"

"Well I thought that was evident!"

"Well it wasn't!"

He was sitting upright now, burying his face in his hands in frustration. "Alright," he lifted his face and spoke as gently as he could at that moment, "will you come and live at the Fenn with me because I want to be with you and I love you?" He meant it, despite the fact that most of him was panicking. It would not be as though they were enjoying some blissful honeymoon period; they would be thrown into parenthood. They would have a family. More horrifying, _he_ would have a family.

He breathed heavily and his eye followed the curve of her spine into the smooth dip that led up towards the rise of her buttocks. Somewhere behind there, beyond the bones of her spine and into her abdomen, was his child. Some poor scrap of a thing whose unlucky accident of birth would mean it was his offspring. Gods how he pitied it.

"Of course I want to come to the Fenn, that's all I ever wanted, but only if you want me there for the right reasons."

"I just told you that I loved you and I wanted to be with you! What more can I say?"

"What about the child?"

"I assumed it would be coming too," he snapped. Then he stopped and drew another deep breath, as getting angry wasn't going to get them anywhere. He softened his tone, it was too early to argue and he was beginning to know her well enough to know that she was as stubborn as he was, and any argument could well go on all day. "Come and live at the Fenn," he said, giving in, his voice quiet and calm. "I don't know what kind of father I will make and if I am a bad one I give you full permission to walk out the door and take me for everything I am worth – not that it's much but you can have it – but I will do my best and that is all I can offer you."

She kissed him then; gently, causing delicate threads of desire to float across her nerve endings. Her lips parted to the probing of his tongue and he deepened the kiss artfully until she was bound in the sweet sticky spider web of passion. Her entire body began to hum with wanton possibilities, but she pulled away from him for a moment to whisper; "that's all I want, and that's all you need to offer." Then she kissed him again, feeling her heart begin to thump with the prospect of what was to come.

But he stopped the kiss and lay down again, drawing her down with him, his mind obviously more on the prospect of sleeping peacefully in her warmth than on any passionate lovemaking they could do. She forced him onto his back so that she could rest her head on his chest.

"That can't be comfortable."

"It is," she insisted.

They settled into the bed, relaxing and both allowing the lure of sleep to wash over them. They had time, a couple of hours before they really had to be up and ready for this journey to St Mungo's, and they had resolved so much, they had reached an understanding and she felt more stable, even if her future was not what she imagined it to be.

As she slept he took measure of her steady heartbeat beneath his palm and then suddenly his eyes snapped open. For the first time in his life he could honestly say he was looking forward to something good.

*******  
Draco was fast learning to hate Hogsmeade, and he was fast learning to hate Scotland in general. It was cold, wet and dismal, and most of all every part of it seemed to sweat _Harry._ He hated Hogwarts. He hated walking down those corridors and remembering the good times that he had spent hexing Harry as a youth. He hated seeing students who kept looking at him as though they expected him to fall apart and most of all he hated Harry.

Except of course he didn't hate Harry, he just wanted to hate Harry. He loved Harry and that was why he'd spent the morning wandering around the village looking for an elusive Pensieve bowl in his entirely pathetic last ditch effort to make Harry love him.

 _Understand him. To make Harry understand him._

 _Yeah right._

Harry had really wanted to see this, he had mentioned it so often that they had fought regularly over it and now; when all was hopeless Draco was willing to share it. He had no idea why Harry would want to see it. If anything it would make him ill, and the memory certainly caused Draco's stomach to churn.

 _And_ as it turned out, Pensieve bowls were extremely rare. He'd been all over Hogsmeade and had been subjected to several nasty cat calls from people who could no doubt hated his father and could not see beyond physical similarities to the fact that he was _not_ Lucius. He didn't get this kind of treatment when he was with Harry, or at least he had never noticed it when he was with Harry.

He arrived at the shop that the last store had referred him to. 'Antwon's Antique Assortment.'

 _Oh fuck, I am really scraping the bottom of the barrel._

It was a remote part of the village and the cheerily named Antwon's was in fact a rather dusty and depressing place, a little like all those stores his father had dragged him into when buying and selling various pieces that no one wanted to mention.

He pushed the door open and was greeted by a nose full of dust that made him want to sneeze. Behind the counter stood a very small Wizard obviously propped up on boxes who just had to be Antwon. The little man had a look on his face that Draco knew to be familiar enough. Lucius had to be a regular customer here. He just had to be, because Antwon was rubbing his hands together in anticipation of making some very good money. It was a fairly good indication of the kind of wares Antwon sold.

"Young Master Malfoy," the smile on the Wizard's face was genuine, as though he could almost smell the money. "What a pleasure to see you here. How may I help you?"

Draco sniffled at the dust and cleared his throat. "I'm looking for a pensieve bowl."

Antwon's smile grew broader by the second. "Antique bowls are very hard to come by, very few who own them are willing to give them up. If I come across one, it's usually a job lot sent in from deceased estates."

"Do you have one?"

"Oh yes, a lovely one, but alas, it is no antique."

"Does it work?"

"But of course! But if you are anything like your _dear_ father, you would much prefer the antiques, they are so much more beautiful. I could look for one for you, if you have the time I could get on in a matter of weeks."

"I don't have time to wait," Draco said dismissively, "I don't care if it's an antique or not as long as it works. How much for the one you've got?"

Antwon seemed a little taken aback but was soon mentally calculating just how much he could demand from the young Malfoy. "1000 galleons," he ventured with a smile.

"What? You said yourself it was no antique!"

"But Master Malfoy, as you may have realized, they are very hard to come by."

"Yes, but I'm not paying 1000 galleons for a piece of modern crap!"

"I see Master is as shrewd as his father, I will take 150 galleons from the price."

Fifteen minutes and five hundred galleons later, Draco left Antwons with his new Pensieve bowl tucked into his bag.

"Death Eater scum!"

Draco stopped and turned to see who had spoken. A burly looking Wizard with possibly more brawn than brains was coming towards Draco without hesitation. Before Draco could even speak the man had pulled back his fist and plunged it into Draco's jaw, causing his lip to split wetly against his teeth and Draco fell back against the wall of the shop front and sank to the ground.

He sat there for a moment, dazed, yet incredulous that the fool was still standing there, congratulating himself at such a good punch. Draco frowned, feeling blood running down his chin, and pulled out his wand.

Harry would possibly not approve of this.

He transfigured the oaf into a squirrel.

He stood up painfully and dabbed out his lip and his fingers came away bloody.

"Thanks Dad" he muttered, knowing that it probably wasn't his father's fault that the man had been stupid, but then again who knew what Lucius had done to him. This was going to be part of his heritage, as much as his looks and his wealth. Centuries of playing the bad guys had ensured that he was here, being punched by a moron in Hogsmeade.

He knew that he should turn him back, but really, the squirrel was cuter. He stood up straight, dusted himself off and walked away.

*******  
St Mungo's had no maternity wards. Witches, Hermione was about to learn, gave birth at home usually, with a midwife in attendance, or a multitude of sisters or a mother or someone who would help the child into the world. It was considered the natural way of things and they had practiced it for centuries. Not for the magical world was this way of Muggles with their monitors and drugs and clinical indifference. A magical birth was different. And so, St Mungo's had a small examination room, a waiting room and a receptionist who sat at a desk and called the prospective mothers through when it was their turn. This visit had certain goals, they would find out for certain that Hermione was indeed pregnant, that they were healthy and all was well, an approximate date of conception and the name of the closest midwife. Beyond that Hermione would be cared for at home.

By the time they had reached the hospital Severus had endured a ride on the tube during peak hour with countless Muggles crushed up against him and had amused Hermione no end by performing a scrougifying charm to get rid of what he described as 'Muggle stench' off him. The midwifery office was on the same level as the victims of accidental charms, something Hermione found a little offensive and she couldn't help but complain about it. She found her complaints fell on deaf ears however, as Severus was looking around for the cafeteria level because he suddenly needed a coffee. If Hermione didn't know him better she would think that he had finally become nervous.

"Severus?"

He turned from his position staring at the information board above the lift, "Huh?"

"Are you coming?"

"I'm sorry…what?"

"The appointment, it's down here," she indicated the corridor.

"Oh…yes, I just," he looked back to the notice board helplessly, "I wanted a coffee."

Hermione looked at her watch and then back to him, "well if you really want one you could go and get one and I'll meet you at the office."

She didn't really expect him to take her up on the offer, she was still thinking of him as the ever efficient Professor Snape, but he nodded, said "right then," and promptly got into the lift and disappeared, leaving her in the corridor staring in disbelief at the closed lift doors.

Well, she did tell him that he could go.

She turned and followed the signs to the Midwifery office, appalled at just how out of the way it was. When she finally rounded the corner and found the neat little waiting room she was surprised. She wasn't sure what she had expected. Something more pleasant perhaps, more…childlike…with pictures of bears on the wall or something charming like that. Instead she found dull off white walls and wooden chairs lining the walls. A pile of out of date Witch Weeklies and a few copies of the Daily Prophet, also out of date, but less so than the magazines.

The receptionist seemed entirely absorbed in possibly the only current magazine in the hospital, a copy of Cosmopolitan – something Hermione had never read but she had seen the cover glaring out of various news agencies during her life time and it appeared to consist of sex quizzes and sealed sections that confirmed whether or not ones genitals were normal.

The receptionist appeared to be doing the sex quiz.

Hermione discreetly cleared her throat and the girl looked up – and Hermione startled, a frown instantly coming to her face. She knew this girl although she couldn't quite place her name. She'd been in Hufflepuff, Hermione was certain of it, one of the many that had occasion to fawn all over Harry at some point. The girl was decidedly pudding faced and as she flicked through her copy of Cosmopolitan, she looked a little bored. Hermione could only hope that who ever she was didn't remember her. And why should she? Hermione had kept to herself, she'd had few friends…except that the few she did have consisted of Harry and Ron and they had (all three of them) been rather prolific during their schooling life.

Hermione crossed her fingers and stepped up to the desk.

"Hermione!" The Hufflepuff girl smiled with genuine pleasure but Hermione could see that the pleasure was born purely from the opportunity to find out some decent gossip. Before she could berate herself for jumping to conclusions the girl continued; "so what are _you_ doing here? Are you pregnant?"

Hermione blushed, "well…yes…actually, I have an appointment." She silently willed Severus to stay upstairs in the cafeteria.

 _What was the damn girl's name?_

"Really?" Miss Hufflepuff inspected her appointment list and looked surprised, "So you do! Wow, I thought you were still at school!"

"I am," Hermione muttered.

 _Daisy! Daisy bleeding Jiggers! Dopey cow whose father ran one of the most successful Apothecary supplies stores in the Wizard world._

"Wow!" Daisy Jiggers was looking at her in unadorned shock, "who's the father?" she asked plainly, "Ron?"

"Ron? Ah, well, no…it's not…it's not Ron."

"Well it can't be Harry," Daisy giggled, "not if what the papers are saying is true…is it true?"

"Pardon?"

"What the papers say about Harry?"

"What do the papers say about Harry?" Hermione found the irritation she was feeling had found its way into her voice.

"That he's…" Daisy looked around and hissed in an indiscreet whisper, " _gay._ "

Hermione rolled her eyes and decided that Harry wouldn't care. "Yes, he's gay, do you have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not!" Daisy smiled, "But I guess it explains a lot, I mean he was always a little…you know…"

"No, I don't know."

"A little odd, like he didn't know what to do with a girl."

 _Oh good grief, like pudding faced Daisy Jiggers would ever know._ "Well, there you go."

"But I guess he knows what to do with a guy…is it true about Draco Malfoy?"

"I really don't know," Hermione replied losing all patience, "now can I book in with my appointment?"

"Oh yeah, sure, not a problem," Daisy smiled again, "just take a seat. Will the father be joining you?"

 _I really hope not._ "I…er…I…"

And then Severus rounded the corner, not really looking at where he was going and stopped, "I got you tea, apparently it's better for you than coffee…"

"Professor Snape!"

Hermione winced at the look on Daisy's face and Severus almost dropped the tea.

Daisy was still staring at Severus as she pushed a form across her desk. She was looking as white as a sheet, as though some particularly malevolent ghost had just popped up to haunt her and Hermione began to wonder exactly what she was like at Potions – and if she was Hufflepuffs answer to Neville in the class room.

"You have to fill out this form." The girls' voice was decidedly shaky, "you need to put down where you live and plan to have the baby, your name and occupation, father's name and occupation. That sort of thing." She smiled uneasily and looked at the Professor. She could only speculate on his role in all of this and she quickly decided that he had been sent as an escort, some sort of punishment for Hermione for getting herself knocked up whilst still at school.

Hermione decided to ignore the look on Daisy Jiggers face and took the form and clipboard. She borrowed a quill and they shuffled off to sit down and wait. Hermione took her tea and Severus took the form from her hands and began to look it. Then much to Hermione's amazement he began filling it out for her.

She sipped her tea.

"It's still full of caffeine you know."

"Huh?"

He indicated the tea with the quill, "it's still full of caffeine, and it's almost as bad for you as coffee."

"Then why did you buy it?"

He shrugged, "It seemed a good idea at the time, probably the same reason I now have a pocket full of Fizzing Wizzbees and chocolate."

"Chocolate?"

He shuffled his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bag full of sweets.

"I think you're nervous."

"Me?" He looked at her with mock indignance, "You must be kidding."

"You're nervous?"

"Yep."

"And you told me not to be nervous."

"I lied." He scanned down the form, checking off each part he had filled in, "What's your mother's maiden name?"

Hermione frowned and looked at the form, "Reardon." She looked at what he'd already written. He'd put himself down as the father and for some reason she was surprised, although when she thought about it, it was only natural, he _was_ the father after all.

Of course they had to give the form to Daisy Jiggers and she was no doubt going to read it. It was a big step for him. Then again, perhaps he had decided that they were going to have to get used to this. If they were going to be together they would have to stand up in the face of whatever people thought at some point.

"Love you," she whispered and he glared at her.

Then he slid down in his chair in a way that reminded her of a bored student in Trelawney's Divination class and began shoveling Fizzing Wizzbees into his mouth.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

They both fell silent as a worried looking Wizard and his partner (seemingly named Alice) walked past them with bemused glances and entered the midwives office.

"I'll take the form over then," Hermione suggested hopefully and when he responded by pushing more sweets into his mouth she shook her head and took the form to Daisy.

And of course Daisy scanned it and her mouth fell open when she reached the 'father's name' part and she looked from Hermione to Severus and just couldn't believe it. "Are you sure?" she asked stupidly, "I mean, how is it possible?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and lost all patience. "Well how do you think it is possible, we went to bed and fucked like monkeys and now I'm pregnant. Why don't you use your common fucking sense?"

Daisy looked about to say something more but couldn't think of the appropriate words. The truth was that her own recollections of school were haunted by memories of the greasy haired Potions Master who had given her a dismal grade in Potions and thus ensured that she had never been accepted to the Midwifery program that St Mungo's ran. As a result she found herself stuck at the reception desk, something she considered a grave injustice (the fact that she was a dismal potions maker was neither here nor there). The idea of anyone going to bed with Severus Snape was horrifying to her, one look at him and she reasoned that anyone would run. But it was obvious that Hermione Granger _had_ slept with him – not only slept but had produced the child now growing inside of her! The idea was completely unthinkable. Through her haze of disbelief she saw Hermione give her one last look and return to her seat.

"Fucked like monkeys?" Severus asked silkily.

"You know what I meant," Hermione replied irritably.

"Have you ever seen a monkey fuck?"

"I saw a documentary on television once."

"And there I was thinking television was pointless, If I'd known they showed displays of monkey fucking then I would have invested in one."

"You are very unlike yourself today, Severus."

"Well, it is very uncommon for me to be sitting in a midwives waiting room having my sexual technique compared to that of an ape."

"I really wish she wasn't the person sitting behind the desk. I was hoping it would be someone older."

Severus glanced at the reception desk. "Who is she?"

"Daisy Jiggers, don't you remember her?"

"Students all blur into one, only the troublemakers and know-it-alls stand out."

"She was in Hufflepuff, she had a kind of thing for Harry…it didn't last long."

"What happened?"

"Well, Harry wasn't interested and besides, I seem to recall she was completely mental – and thick as two bricks."

"Well, Potter attracts them."

"I wouldn't say Draco is completely mental…or thick."

"He has his moments."

Hermione nodded, it was true.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sharing the bag of sweets and waiting to be called. They both managed to ignore Daisy who was gaping at them. Hermione wondered if it would always be like this, people always looking at them in disbelief.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Snape?"

Hermione jumped as the Midwife smiled at them.  
"Professor," Severus said, it was an automatic reaction.

The elderly midwife looked confused, "Pardon?"

"Professor Snape."

"I see…" she smiled and nodded, "would you like to come in?"

Hermione stood and for a moment she was convinced that Severus would flee. He didn't. He followed her into the office, leaving Daisy Jiggers alone in shock…and wondering just who she could tell first.

******  
 _Continued…_


	50. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 7

**Chapter 18 – Part 7**

Harry pushed his hand through his hair causing it to tangle and stick out even further than it usually did. Tangling his fingers through his hair was a habit he had picked up as he had grown older and more stressed. He hadn't done it so much since the war ended – well, until recently. Not having Draco was not agreeing with him. Or at least being confronted with a daily reminder of what he had given up was not agreeing with him.

Draco had not been looking good. He looked tired and even a little grubby, something Harry hadn't expected, but when he thought back to seeing Draco at the Leaky Cauldron over the summer, he had looked grubby then too. Perhaps grief did that to him. There was something about looking slightly dirty that made Draco Malfoy look a little more sexy, and Harry could scarce believe a by-product of not bathing regularly could be sexiness. Draco Malfoy led a charmed life.

Except of course he didn't. Draco was not happy and Harry knew he was the cause of that. He also knew that eventually the sadness and hurt would turn to malice, and when it did, Harry was hoping school would be over and he wouldn't have to be there to endure it. He'd seen Draco at his most malicious, and he knew what Draco was capable of. He didn't want to be on the receiving end if it this time around.

He ran his hand through his hair again and pushed his way through the portrait hole to the Common Room. He was tired. He didn't want to study tonight, and he just desperately wanted to sleep. Hermione would normally be on his case about it, but Hermione had gone to London and it made sense to take the afternoon off. He was supposed to go out with Fred tonight as well. He wondered how hard it would be to cancel.

At his bedroom door he stopped. He could hear something. Someone perhaps, inside. Harry frowned and strained his ears against the wood of the door. And then it opened, almost sending him sprawling forward through the doorway.

Draco was frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide.

Harry wasn't sure wasn't sure what to say, and he really wasn't sure what to do. Something had happened to Draco, someone had hit him. Harry's first instinct was to find the bastard who had touched him and perform innumerable acts of torture on their person, find a thousand ways to make them die. His eyes focused first on the cut lip and then traveled up the bruised cheek wanting nothing more than to stroke that beautiful place and whisper a charm to make it all better. He wanted to hold him, caress him, kiss him, and make love to him.

Instead he said savagely; "What are you doing in my room?"

"Nothing!" Draco tried to smile innocently, but only succeeded in splitting the fragile bond that had formed on his lip and a pearl of blood welled there. "I was…I left you something."

"What?" Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It could well be that the malice he was so anticipating was finally about to make an appearance and his bedroom was now thoroughly booby trapped. "What did you leave in there?"

"Nothing bad!" Draco frowned, "Look, you don't have to use it, not at all…I just thought…You don't have to use it…it's stupid anyway."

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Draco pushed past Harry, his arm connecting with Harry's shoulder hard enough to be painful and Harry winced. It was harsh contact but there had been precious little of it since Harry had walked out on him almost two months before, and as much as it hurt his shoulder, Harry relished it.

He watched Draco go, admiring the way he walked, wanting to walk with him. But he was also nervous about just what Draco had left in his room. He knew, deep down, that Draco wouldn't leave anything dangerous in there, but it was possible that the love he'd felt had finally become bitter and who knew what Draco could have left in there.

Harry opened the door carefully and waited, listening carefully and trying to sense something, but the air was still and the room quiet. He stepped inside and glanced around, taking in familiar corners and all his furniture, his pictures, his clothes piled on Ron's bed, everything that was his. Draco had touched nothing, there was no perceivable change – save one. On the dresser there was a bowl, familiar in appearence, it looked like Dumbledore's Pensieve bowl, but the markings were different and it did not have the look of age that Dumbledore's possessed. This was new, made and purchased recently. Harry could see its silvery contents shimmering alluringly.

He knew instantly what it was. He knew and he could feel every nerve and fiber in his body start to tingle. He ran a finger along the edge of the bowl, looking into the cloudy surface of its contents, knowing that inside was everything Harry had wanted to see and Draco had hidden away. Given to him now that it was too late.

Harry felt an ache in himself grow. "Oh Gods, Draco."

There was no question about going into it, of course he would. He had spent months, night after night, thinking about what Draco had gone through and wondering how bad it had been. Harry had often felt a sense of shame, he had accused Draco on any number of occasions of not understanding loss or pain, when in fact Draco knew both well enough. In the bowl lay the key to Draco's knowledge of such things.

And yet some unreasonable part of Harry still thought that whatever had happened could not possibly be as bad as the Cruciatus curse. That curse was an unforgivable, one of the worst curses that anyone of their kind could possibly use, and there must be a reason for it to be called such. Draco had never said that Moody had used that curse on him, and so Harry could never reconcile what Draco had done to Regina – he'd never experienced anything _that_ bad.

But he had certainly experienced something and Harry was desperate to find out just what that was. He placed his hands on either side of the bowl and drew a deep breath before plunging his face into the bowl.

The sensation was instantaneous. Harry was sucked into the bowl, feeling a little like a cork sliding effortlessly and then suddenly he was falling through darkness.

When he landed he found himself on a stone floor and he expected to look up and find himself in something similar to Snape's dungeon. Instead the room was surprisingly modern. It was dull and grey and bare save for a table in the middle of the room and a heavy wooden chair not far from the table.

And seated in that chair was Lucius Malfoy.

Harry stood up and looked around him, trying to see where Draco was. This was Draco's memory after all, he had to be in the room somewhere. Harry couldn't see him, but knew he would be revealed eventually, and so he turned his attention to Lucius.

It couldn't have been long after the final battle, a number of days perhaps. Lucius still had a nasty looking gash on his head that Harry seemed to remember him getting at some point during that final run up the stairs. There were other injuries however, new injuries that marred features that Harry now knew to be hauntingly familiar. He had never noticed just how much he looked like Draco – or how much Draco looked like him.

But Lucius did not look particularly well. His face was bruised, his upper lip had been split and he looked tired and sore, but surprisingly he also looked bored.

"And how do you feel today Lucius?"

Harry jumped and Moody seemed to appear from out of a darkened corner.

"Oh I don't know," Lucius replied philosophically, "breakfast was cold and the sleeping arrangements are shocking, but one can't always expect four star accommodation now can one?"

Moody chuckled humorlessly. "Your sense of humor always was shit, Malfoy, so let's see how long you can keep playing the funny man."

Lucius shrugged and cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you ready to answer some questions?"

"But of course." Lucius smirked easily. "Although what I can tell you I don't know, we had such a thorough session yesterday, it was really rather exhausting."

"I'll show you exhausted, Malfoy. I'll make so that after today you won't know what hit you."

Lucius smiled openly, clearly unfazed by Moody's outburst; "worse than dislocating my wrists yesterday? Oh Alastor, I'm quaking in my boots."

"Oh come now _Lucius,_ " Moody managed to mimic Malfoy's voice rather well, "you know that we need to employ certain tactics to get the answers we need."

Lucius shrugged again and seemed un-offended. Harry could almost read his thoughts. He'd lived a good deal of his life under the threat of Voldemort, so that Moody using him as a punching bag wasn't going to faze him.

But it seemed Moody knew that too because he was smiling a crooked smile that suggested he had a secret. "I think we might go on to who you have killed, Malfoy."

"Excellent, and how long will today's session take?"

"Got some place to be?"

"Haven't you heard? The Dementor's throw a social every Friday night; it's all very entertaining, and I'm due to bring the dip."

Moody didn't find it funny and for a moment Harry was certain that he was going to hit Lucius to wipe the smirk off his face. He didn't however, and the crooked smile returned. "You might have to miss it Malfoy, because we might be a while here. Then again, I might be able to persuade you a little faster, it's up to you."

Lucius sighed and returned to looking bored.

"So, Malfoy, who have you killed."

"I believe I've already answered that question on a number of occasions."

"And you expect us to believe you? I've seen the list you admitted to, it's a dozen or more short."

"If you know who I killed, why don't you just add the names yourself?" Lucius yawned and glanced around the room as though suddenly interested in the interior.

"I think you'll tell me yourself," Moody chuckled, "if you know what's good for you."

"Or else what?" Lucius demanded, his humor vanishing with alarming speed, "You'll kill me? You _need_ me alive Moody, everyone wants a nice public Kiss and who are you to disappoint them?"

"Oh yes, you're right there." Moody was beaming radiantly, "I can't kill you, Fudge was pretty specific about that. He wants a nice public trial, nice public Kiss…but he wants names Malfoy. He wants names specifically from you, names to give all those who need to know who killed their loved ones."

"Oh be still my bleeding heart. Why don't you just write yes next to everyone and be done with it?"

Moody laughed outright. "Now I know you didn't kill all of these people Malfoy, and there'd be no fun in saying you did. No Malfoy, I want the truth. Do you remember how to tell the truth?"

Lucius just looked tolerant.

"Well do you?"

"You might be horribly disappointed Moody, I might not have killed as many as you hoped."

"I doubt that." Moody limped around the chair, but Lucius made no move to follow his movements, "But we'll soon see. I think you'll start handing out names very shortly."

"And why do you think that?"

Moody limped back towards the dark corner of the room from which he had emerged. "Because I can't kill you, we both know that…" Moody reached into the corner and Harry realized that there must be some kind of Invisibility charm on the corner, "but there is one thing you don't know that I do." He pulled hard, dragging someone out from the corner. Pale and limping, Draco could barely stand. "I can't kill you, but I _can_ kill him."

The effect on Lucius was immediate and Moody watched it with glee. Harry was fairly certain that his own expression matched Lucius' perfectly. He went pale, even the bruises on his face seemed to turn a light shade of grey. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his grey eyes; a shade darker than his sons, were wide with horror.

"He's…he's…" Lucius faltered, there was no sign of self assurance now, no humor left, "He's innocent, he hasn't done anything wrong!"

"I don't know, there are a lot of people out there who believe it's only a matter of time. In fact, there are plenty of people out there who would be happy to see the end of the whole miserable bloodline."

"He hasn't done anything wrong," Lucius echoed, "he's just a…child."

Moody laughed hard at this, as he forced Draco to stand up straight. "He's hardly a child," Moody yanked hard at the cloak around Draco's shoulders, one that Harry now noticed as being made of a harsh fabric that Draco would never wear. As the cloak gave way Harry knew that the cloak was not Draco's, just as sure as he knew Draco would be naked under it. "Take a good look," Moody growled, "he's a man, Malfoy, there's no child there."

Lucius fell silent, terrified perhaps of what would happen if he said anything. Harry stared in open wonder at Draco. He was more filled out than Harry knew him to be, his muscles more pronounced, and he was healthier. Harry circled him and almost wept. His back had been perfect. Smooth and sculpted and perfect. The flesh was creamy and pale without so much as a blemish to mar it. If only there had been a pimple or a mole or something that could herald the coming doom, but there was nothing, only the smooth perfection of flesh.

And soon it would be gone and there was nothing Harry could do to stop it.

Lucius was stammering out something to Moody, realizing too late that he had given away too much of himself and that Moody knew all to well that he had him where he wanted him. Finally he had worked out just how to hurt Lucius Malfoy.

"Don't blame yourself Malfoy." Moody grinned, smug now that he had the upper hand. "You hid him well. In fact I didn't even think to look for him until your friend Nott mentioned him. You see, not everyone holds up as well as you. I was saying, "I wonder what we could do to persuade Lucius Malfoy to talk to us, and Nott, he was sweating a bit under pressure and he said, 'threaten his brat,' and I knew then. I knew that I couldn't just threaten to hurt him because you're a smart man and you knew that you'd hidden him away, so I had to find him and it took a while; a few days, but we found him. You did a good job…" Moody smiled, "but not good enough."

Lucius closed his eyes and his mouth clamped shut tight. Then his face relaxed into a mask of calm. "I don't know all of the names, I did what I was told, but I'll give you the ones I can remember."

"Oh, you're all reasonable now aren't you? You did what you were told did you? All obedient to your master then? He had to tell you names before letting you loose, so don't give me the, _'I don't know them'_ routine."

Lucius didn't answer. He was looking at Draco as thought after useless thought rushed through his brain. There was no escape from this. He tried to move and Harry realized that Lucius was bound to the chair. Harry felt frozen to the spot, unseen and as useless as Lucius was. This was just a memory, if Harry even tried to touch them his hand would go through them.

"So, who did you kill Malfoy?"

Lucius was still staring at Draco. "I…I don't…"

"Did you kill Charlie Weasley?"

"I…no, I didn't kill him…I…"

"You were seen Malfoy, you were seen killing him!"

Lucius looked confused, still staring at his son, who looked as though he would fall down. There was not a bruise on him, but they must have done something to make him so weak. "Alright then…I killed him."

"Very good, now what about Rosaline Moreland?"

Lucius hesitated, once again looking at Draco who had begun to shake from either cold or fear or both. "Yes," he said at last, but it wasn't convincing.

"You wouldn't be telling me what you think I want to hear now would you?"

Lucius fell silent again, his gaze flicking from Moody to Draco. "I didn't kill Weasley or Moreland."

Moody's grin became malicious, "but you were _seen_ Malfoy, how do you explain that?"

"I…" Lucius looked helpless and Harry could guess his thoughts because he was thinking them himself. It didn't matter what he said, no answer was going to be right. "What do you want me to say?" he asked at last.

"The truth Malfoy, that's all I want."

"I've told you the truth!"

"So which is it?"

"I didn't kill them."

"But you were _seen_ Malfoy, how do you explain that?"

"I can't!"

"Then you must have done it!"

"Alright then, fine, I killed them."

"But you just said that you didn't!"

Lucius made an impatient sound in his throat and looked desperately to his son.

Draco lifted his head a little, as though realizing for the first time where he was. At this prompting Moody grabbed a hand full of hair and wrenched his head back; "might be a good time to wake him up eh?"

Lucius looked confused, "what did you give him?"

"Nothing that would hurt him." Moody was fumbling through his pocket, by the sound of it he had a few bottles in there. "Just a little something to get him here without him kicking up a storm, quite a little hellion you raised yourself, he took out an Auror's eye when we tried to catch him."

Lucius actually smiled and Harry, who would have been shocked to learn this a year ago, smiled too.

Moody forced a few drops of a potion into Draco's mouth and those familiar grey eyes shot open wide. "Say hello to your father, there's a good boy."

Draco said nothing at all, he still wasn't standing straight and Harry guessed that despite the lack of bruises he had probably taken some kind of beating. He was looking at his father, probably never having seen him look quite so bad, and the resulting panic was evident on his features. He looked defeated.

Moody leaned in close to Draco's face, still holding him by his hair; "I've known your family for a long time boy, none of you would know the truth if you fell over it."

"You don't want to know the truth," Draco replied, his voice raw, "you're close enough to ending the line now, you don't care what is true and what isn't."

Moody looked impressed. "Perceptive boy you have here, Lucius. He might actually have a brain in that head – shame it's a Malfoy brain, and no good can come of that now can it?"

"Leave him alone, he has nothing to do with this."

Moody glared at Lucius and responded by dragging Draco by his hair to the table in the centre of the room. Draco gave an involuntary yelp and his hands flailed up, trying to dislodge the hand from his hair. Harry followed him, wanting nothing more than to help him and knowing full well that he could not.

"How do you think all those families felt Malfoy?" Moody asked, "How do you think they felt when you killed their loved ones? Loved ones that had nothing to do with you or your master? Do you think they care that he has nothing to do with this? Or do you think they'll cheer when they find out that someone managed to get to you and yours? You have managed to worm your way out of anything with your threats and your bags of gold. I don't know how much you paid the keepers of the Hollow Hills to hide your spawn, but it won't work any more. Once he's dead and you're nothing more than a soulless shell, guess what will happen to your estate? The Ministry will take it all and the famous Malfoy coffers will finally be laid bare."

Lucius sat back in the chair, perhaps finally realizing that there was nothing he could do to save his son and so he returned to his former calm self, even though his hands shook just a little. "I think you'll find you're wrong there, Moody. The Ministry won't see so much as a sickle. You might end the Malfoy line, but it will just revert to the next in line. They're French, they have nothing to do with _this_ Ministry – or Voldemort for that matter. Nice simple country folk, you'd like them, poor as church mice and ever so good…but _not_ your Ministry."

Moody flinched visibly and responded by slamming Draco's face into the table. Lucius jumped, it didn't matter if he could save his son or not, he couldn't watch this without feeling something.

"There has to be some way of coming to an agreement." Lucius attempted a charming smile, "I will say whatever you want me to say and he will leave our world. Take his wand and he'll go, then you'll never have to see him again…"

"Why don't you save your breath Malfoy? Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this day? From the moment your slut of a wife gave birth I've known he'd grow up to be just like you. The Ministry should never have risked it. He should have had a little _accident_ years ago, but Fudge went soft. But no more. No one wants to spend a lifetime worrying about your offspring, and by happy chance I get to be the one who rids the world of this…blot."

"But he hasn't done anything wrong." Lucius insisted, unable to fathom that the _Auror_ who had his son by the hair was going to kill him despite his innocence. "You keep carrying on about what is good for our world, but by our own laws and ethics you can't kill someone when they've done nothing wrong! The people won't stand for it, it doesn't matter what I've done, they won't stand for this!"

"Ahh Malfoy, you don't understand what is going on. I have jurisdiction now to do anything that will lead to information as to the fate of those who died or went missing during the war. _Anything_ Malfoy, do you understand what that means? The public doesn't need to know, and so the public _won't_ know. So many people went missing during the war and so many people died, who would notice this one victim? A victim I might add, that no one cares about – except you of course."

"He's just a child…"

"He is not a child!" Moody dragged Draco up the table, lying him out flat on his belly and slamming a fist down hard into the middle of his back. "Do you know what he was doing when we found him? You sent him to the Hollow Hills and we found him with his face between the Faerie Queen's legs!"

Now Lucius really did smirk, and for a brief moment he actually looked proud. "So he has a healthy appetite," he shrugged.

"I would have thought you'd have been disgusted. She isn't even the same species as us, and isn't that a problem for the disciples of the Dark Lord?"

"For some of them."

"But not for you eh? You won't fuck a half blood but you'd happily do a faerie?"

Lucius once again took on that self assured tone. "Quite the contrary, when it comes to fucking, I find half bloods and Muggle borns often have more enthusiasm that the purest of Purebloods."

Harry couldn't quite believe they were discussing fucking while Draco was sprawled across that table. If he were Lucius he would be busy begging for his son's life to be spared, but perhaps Lucius knew as Harry did, that this was going to happen either way and that begging on the floor would be pointless.

"Well, perhaps you're right there Malfoy, because your wife was a little like a dead fish when I fucked her."

If Harry had expected an outburst at this revelation he was to be disappointed. While Draco made an indignant noise and struggled under Moody's grip, Lucius simply arched an eyebrow and calmly replied; "you mustn't have been doing it right Alistair. I usually find Narcissa quite a little firebrand, but then I did pass her in the hall yesterday and she said something about you being like an inadequately sized dildo." His eyes narrowed and he said calmly, "don't try to hurt me through my wife, as I think you'll find _her_ more resilient that I am."

Moody seemed taken aback for a moment. He stared at Lucius with both his normal and magical eye in complete amazement. He regained his composure quickly however. Trying in his own brutal way to match Lucius' demeanor, he did the one thing that he knew would hurt the man. He stroked one gnarled finger down the perfect length of Draco's back.

Draco flinched and Lucius' smile faded.

"So I suppose I should just hurt you through your son then eh?"

Moody didn't give Lucius any chance to answer, and any conversation that they could have would only be a rehash of what had gone before. Moody had no real interest in anything Malfoy wanted to tell him. He was determined in his mission and nothing Lucius Malfoy could say or do was going to stop him. He considered this task a real pleasure. From inside his robe he pulled a large flask of a deep red liquid and held it up for Lucius to see.

"This is very hard to come by you know. In fact, this is most of the Ministry's stock." He shook the flask, "do you know what it is?"

Lucius hesitated and eyed the flask suspiciously, then after a moment he shook his head.

"It's called Madragora," Moody watched Lucius' expression change, "I see you've heard of it."

"It's illegal…no one knows how to make it any more."

"That's true, but this has been sitting in the Auror vaults for years, and I've been saving it for just such an occasion. Nice tool of your old friend Grindelwald."

"Grindelwald was before my time."

"Really?" Moody looked surprised, "And there I was thinking I'd been chasing you forever. Must've been your father."

"Must've been."

"I get the lot of you mixed up, you're all so similar."

"In looks anyway."

"Yes, in looks…and the fact that you're all rotten to the core."

Lucius didn't answer, but he was looking nervously at the flask.

Moody noticed the direction of his gaze and shook the flask again. "Do you know what Madragora does?"

"I…" Lucius looked pained, knowing that Moody planned a full demonstration regardless of what he said, he looked at his son, crushed down onto the table, his face turned to look at his father. "Yes."

"Then I won't have to explain as I go…or maybe I should, for his sake." He opened the flask and dipped an eyedropper into the bottle.

 _"DON'T!"_ Lucius finally cried out, giving in to the panic inside him, "please, please, don't do this to him, please…do it to me, that would have to be more fun…"

"Oh I don't think so, I think watching your face while I do this is all the fun I need. Now stop interrupting the demonstration Malfoy, you need to pay attention." He squirted the contents of the eyedropper over Draco's left shoulder blade and Draco screamed.

The sound seemed to pierce through Harry, sharper than any blade. It was so loud that his blood chilled in his veins and every part of his body seemed to hurt as though in sympathy for whatever could cause someone to scream like that. In the chair Lucius pulled forward, struggling against whatever charm held him there, his face distorted with dismay.

"Now, the acid burns for a bit," Moody was saying above the sound, "Then it starts to burrow in. It seeks out the heart and lungs you know. So it's burrowing through now, imagine what it's hitting along the way. If I put it down here for example," he splashed another eyedropper full across Draco thigh, "it will just keep on going until It finds what it's looking for. Heart, lungs, intestines, spleen – It's all a matter of time. Wonderful stuff eh?" He bent down to Draco, "hurts like a bugger doesn't it?"

Draco didn't answer, the pain was too intense and he couldn't stop screaming.

"This little amount will probably kill him," Moody shrugged, "but there wouldn't be much fun in that now would there?"

Lucius shook his head quickly, all language having escaped him.

"So I use this," Moody pulled the final bottle from his pocket, a small bottle of Navitas, "to stop it." He pulled Draco's head up and forced a small amount of the liquid into his mouth and then held Draco's mouth closed until he swallowed. Harry waited, hoping that the serum would stop the pain, but it seemed to have no effect at all, Draco was still in obvious pain and Moody supplied the answer readily enough. "I don't want to give him too much of this, I only want to keep him awake and alive long enough to really feel it."

He released Draco's head and it fell to the table with a thump.

"So Malfoy, are you ready to tell the truth yet?"

"Yes…I'll tell you anything you want."

"Good, good, I'm glad we're finally understanding each other," Moody slopped a large amount of acid over Draco's back, straight from the flask and the screaming began with renewed vigor.

It was an hour before it ended. An hour before Harry found himself back in his room. He couldn't hold back, he was sick and vomited into his cauldron. The memory had faded as Draco had finally lost consciousness, but not before Harry had seen much of Draco's body eaten away and Lucius Malfoy finally break free from his bonds and throw himself over his son in an attempt to shield him from it.

Harry remembered the letter Moody had sent to him, congratulating him on finally coming to his senses and getting rid of Draco. Harry hadn't come to his senses, Harry had been a fool. Draco had been right all along about the memories. He should never have wanted to see that, he should never have complained about it so long and so hard. Now that he had seen it he would never forget it.

Harry knew what happened next, they had dumped Draco's body in a Muggle street, assuming that he would die. The Muggles took him to one of their hospitals. Dumbledore had found him, because Dumbledore had been looking for him, all the while trying to get to him before Moody did. He hadn't succeeded in that, but he had saved his life.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to force back the bile that was rising in his throat. He needed to see Draco, he needed to reassure himself that what he had seen was indeed just a memory and that Draco was alive and well and maybe a little pissed in his room – or at the pub – or somewhere other than on that table in that grey room.

It could not be too late. If Draco had left Harry the Pensieve to see then it couldn't be too late to speak to him. To reconcile, to hold him and kiss him and love him. And yet a nagging part kept reminding him about Regina and about why he had walked out in the first place.

He stopped thinking, forced it back. There was no need to think about it any more, and now Harry knew why Draco had treated Regina as he had. Harry had read the journal and gauged enough to know. They would talk about it, try and work something out. Together, they would try and make arrangements for Lucius, they would get him out of the Museum and if it was possible, they would free him from whatever prison he was trapped in.

Harry left his room and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He didn't want to go to Draco sweating and stinking of puke. He smacked his elbow on the door frame as he left the bathroom, but ignored the flare of pain as he headed across the common room.

"Harry!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Fred!" He had forgotten Fred, he had forgotten all about going out. He couldn't, not now!

"Is that what you're wearing?"

Harry looked down at himself. His T-shirt was a little grubby and he was wearing his ever faithful cargo pants, not the best clothes he possessed, but certainly standard pub going attire. "Um…yeah, why, what's wrong with it?"

"I thought you might dress up a bit," Fred looked him up and down, the disappointment evident on his face, "something like what you wore on New Year's Eve."

"Oh…" Harry's cheeks flushed, "well they weren't actually my clothes – and besides, I thought you said this place was like a pub."

"It's a club Harry, you know, drinking, dancing, having a good time?"

Harry sighed heavily, "Do you want me to get changed?"

Fred looked at his watch, "No, I said we'd be there by nine. It's free entry if you get there by nine."

"I don't mind paying," Harry said, he shuffled from one foot to another, looking over Fred's shoulder to the narrow corridor that lead to Draco's room, "I really need to talk to Draco before I go anywhere."

 _"What?"_ Fred looked irritated, "Harry, we need to go, I told people we'd be there!"

"Well," Harry shuffled a little more, he didn't want to go, but he had promised Fred. But he really wanted to stay at the school, why couldn't he just say that? "Can you give me a minute? One minute, I need to tell him something and then we can go. Or maybe he could come with us?"

Fred huffed impatiently, "come with us? Are you back with him?"

"No…But he could come…he's fun…really…"

Fred folded his arms, unhappy with this turn of events. He didn't want Draco Malfoy cramping his evening, he had big plans for how the evening would progress and Draco would certainly mean that much of it would not happen. "I suppose so, if you have to invite him."

Harry grinned and patted him on the arm as he pushed past him and rushed towards Draco's room.

Draco was studying, drink in one hand and parchment in another, with a small cat sprawled across his textbook batting at the pages.

"Hi," Harry breathed and his heart was beginning to thump in his chest as Draco turned and offered an uncertain smile.

"Hi," Draco replied quietly.

"We really need to talk."

"Okay, so talk."

"I can't…" Harry flushed, "I have to go into Hogsmeade with Fred."

Draco turned away, his smile turning cold, "oh, your _'date'._ "

"Why don't you come?"

"No thanks."

"Please…" Harry approached him, squeezed his shoulder with his hand, "please come. We'll stay for a couple of drinks and then get out of there, I promise."

"No," he sounded less certain now, "I have to study…"

"I really want to talk to you…about the Pensieve."

"We couldn't talk at a club anyway."

"I know, but if you came, we could leave early."

Draco put down the parchment and rubbed his eyes, "and if I don't go you'll stay all night?"

"No...I…it would just be easier if you came too."

"No thanks, I don't want to go out with you and Fred Weasley."

Harry looked around the room, trying to stem his growing impatience. "Alright, I'll go down, have a couple of drinks and I'll come back."

"Alright."

"I won't be long."

"Sure, not a problem."

"I won't, I promise."

Draco shrugged.

"Thank you…" Harry wanted to hug him, "thank you for the Pensieve, and thank you for showing me"

"It's fine, it wasn't a problem."

But it was a problem and Harry knew it was. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Sure thing," Draco forced a smile, "have a good time."

Harry seriously doubted that he would. He didn't want to go, he wanted to stay here with Draco. "If you change your mind, I'd love it if you'd come down."

Draco shrugged, "I'd rather stay here."

They both fell silent as a tap on the door alerted them to Fred's presence. "Harry, we have to go." He looked around the room with some interest and nodded to Draco who ignored him.

"Yeah, okay, in a minute." Harry looked back to Draco imploringly, "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, I'll see you when I get back then."

Draco held up a hand in a dismissive wave.

Harry sighed and followed Fred, wondering just how he was going to get out of the club early.

********  
The Curator's bedchamber, hidden on the uppermost floor of the ever expanding Museum, was filled with trunks and suitcases of every shape and size. In the entire of his life Lucius had never seen a man who seemed to wear such an unvarying array of clothing have so much luggage. Lucius did not have much to take, a few nightshirts and a hair brush. But perhaps Semeuse had decided to take some of his favorite collections with him. Stuffed House Elves and some of those weird sacred bundles, that sort of thing.

Lucius spent his days sitting on the bed, wondering what was in the boxes.

Semeuse himself hadn't stopped his frantic muttering and packing for days. From what Lucius could glean from the mad ravings, the council was voting on a new Minister and it appeared that Fudge would lose. The man pegged to be the new Minister was none other than Arthur Weasley, a man Lucius had never had time for (except to fight with, and they'd done plenty of that over the years). Weasley had threatened to stop the exhibition and remove Lucius from the Curator's care. He was fairly certain that something personal had been said, which made Lucius think that someone must have said something to Weasley, but either way, Lucius was surprised. He would never have imagined that Weasley would lift a finger to help him at all.

"I have to go to Hogsmeade my Angel," Semeuse was saying, attempting to brush his hair down, "a delegation is coming from the Ministry to check on the exhibition, so you have to go downstairs. I trust I can do that without you running off?"

"Oh yes, I'll be on my feet and running out the door," Lucius drawled sarcastically.

It earned him a slap, but only around the arm. If he was to go down to the exhibition Semeuse couldn't afford to bruise his face, the Curator was hopeless at healing charms. If Lucius could smirk he would have. Instead he asked, as carefully as he could, why the Curator was going to Hogsmeade.

"I believe Mr. Antwon has a flying carpet, I need one to get you out of here safely."

"But don't you have a room full of flying carpets downstairs?"

Semeuse shook his head and clucked Lucius under the chin, "Oh my silly Angel, that collection is perfect, one would hate to break it up."

"What about a Portkey?"

"My darling, you must think with a little more style. Bouncing about with a Portkey! My lord no. Once you have flown on the carpet my love you will not know luxury like it again."

Lucius almost rolled his eyes, he'd flown by carpet plenty of times and he'd hated it. He watched Semeuse finish dressing. If the council was going to vote soon then Semeuse would want to leave before that happened. He felt his stomach settle for the first time in days, Draco just had to stay at the castle for a little while longer, just until after the council voted.

It was almost over.

********  
Harry had never been much of a club person. He preferred the down to earth bustle of pubs and the ability to sit and talk with a group of people while drinking beer, and whilst he loved dancing, he hated being crushed on a dance floor. Clubs were loud throbbing places where one had to shout to be heard and he was always being sized up by some one or other. Over the last summer he had found himself in two clubs with Fred, George, Angelina, Ron and Hermione – he couldn't say he had enjoyed them.

This was the first gay club that he'd been to and he couldn't quite believe that it was in Hogsmeade. It seemed the kind of place one would find in London, but when Harry thought about it, when Wizards wanted to meet other Wizards they would head to either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so perhaps it made more sense. The club was far busier than he expected. He wouldn't be surprised if every gay Wizard in England was crammed into the tiny space.

The interior reminded Harry of a velvet lined jewellery box. Everything was blue and somehow cushioned, save for the bar, which was a heavy dark wood. From the moment Harry entered the club he was ogled with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Getting across the dance floor to the bar proved to be an exercise in avoiding hands and bodies that either wanted to grope him or rub up against him. Fred, who was obviously well known here, in the company of Harry, became a minor celebrity.

"Oh my Gods, he's _gorgeous!_ " Shrieked an effete man at the bar with an exaggerated wave at them both and while Harry cringed, Fred grabbed his arm and made a beeline for the man.

"Trent," they air kissed, "he's just stunning isn't he?" Fred dragged Harry to his side. "He's very bad though because he didn't get dressed up at all, and believe me, he's just amazing when he's dressed properly." Fred slid a possessive arm around Harry's waist, "Harry, this is Trent, he is _the_ guy to know here. Trent knows everyone, and," Fred lowered his voice, "he always has the best opium. Do you want some?"

Harry wanted to turn and run, instead he offered his hand to shake and was rewarded by having it kissed daintily.

"Oh, he's just beautiful," Trent gushed, "look at those eyes!" Without warning he swept Harry's hair back to look at the all too famous scar, "Just wonderful. I _hear_ you were with Draco Malfoy, is that _true?_ "

"Oh," Harry didn't want to talk about Draco here, "yeah."

"Now _he_ is stunning, my Gods what I would do. I'd crawl over ten miles of broken glass just to masturbate in his shadow! Was he just fabulous in bed?"

Harry had no idea what to say, his first instinct was to tell the bastard to mind his own fucking business, but he saw Fred's anxious look and said nothing at all.

"You are _so_ lucky," Trent continued unabated, "is he available now?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, "err, no, I don't think so." Trent was probably someone Draco would rather hex than go out with and while Harry would say that he was reasonably good looking, the persona would be enough to make Draco run in the opposite direction.

"Oh? Is he with someone else already? Ooh, give us all the goss. I've always heard the Malfoy's love to bed hop!"

"He doesn't bed hop," Harry muttered, his voice strained.

Trent laughed, "Oh Darling, I think you still like him." He turned to Fred, "I thought you said _he_ did the dumping."

"He did," Fred was laughing along, "I can't help it if he still carries a torch."

"You'll just have to fuck it out of him then won't you?"

And they both laughed cattily while Harry assessed the distance to the door. With no attempt at civility he turned his back on Fred and his horror friend and made for the serving area of the bar.

Fred joined him within seconds. "What's wrong? Trent likes you!"

"He's a fuckwit," Harry said bluntly, "why is it that the minute some people discover they're gay they start throwing their arms around and start talking with so much affectation that no one knows what the fuck they're on about?"

Fred shrugged elaborately, "it's all part of the fantabulousness of being gay."

"No it's not! You're not always like that!" Harry shook his head and caught the attention of the barman.

"So I guess this isn't a good time to ask you if you top or bottom?" Fred smirked.

Harry glared at him. "I'm not having sex with you Fred."

Fred pouted, disappointed.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Screaming Orgasm," Fred replied, recovering himself instantly.

Harry rolled his eyes and made the drinks order from a barman who looked as bored as Harry did irritated.

"It's been a couple of months," Fred said seriously when he got his drink, "you need to get over him."

"Don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel."

"So what, you plan to spend your life alone and mourning him?"

Harry didn't answer. Fred didn't need to know that Harry was planning to go back to Hogwarts and reconcile with Draco.

"You haven't even been with anyone else."

Harry still said nothing.

"My point is, you might at least try to enjoy yourself. Why don't you have a sleaze, snog someone, cop a feel? You don't have to shag anyone."

"I don't feel like _sleazing_ on to anyone."

Fred rolled his eyes, "kiss me."

 _"What? No!"_

"No really, it will do you good, kiss me."

"No!"

Fred laughed and sipped his drink. Harry gulped his beer, hoping desperately that he could get out of there soon.

But somehow Harry didn't think that Fred was going to make it easy.

********

Draco wasn't entirely sure what he was doing going down to the bar. He was not comfortable in these surroundings, he was not the greatest dancer in the world and the fact that everyone in the club seemed to be bouncing up and down in unison was somehow disorientating.

Harry had said he should go. He had said "I'd love you to come down," and so he had. He was severely under-dressed. In fact he hadn't really dressed at all. Jeans and a jumper, he'd been wearing them since yesterday.

Behind him someone made a catty comment. They must have said it loudly to be heard over the music. It didn't matter, he was here to find Harry and Harry had seen him look worse…maybe.

He scanned the room, looking through the undulation couples and triples and every other combination besides. All men, all together. The few women in the room seemed to be sitting at the bar or hidden in booths drinking and giggling. He's heard that many women liked to hang around gay men; perhaps they felt safe, who knew? A couple of the men caught his eye, saw past the unwashed clothes and smiled. It wasn't a hard thing to do, dirty or not, he was still Draco Malfoy and he would always be beautiful and anyone could see it. He ignored the smiles. He was looking for only one person. He had expected to find him on the dance floor, Harry loved to dance. But he wasn't there; the dance floor was Harry free.

He moved towards the bar, if he was going to be here he may as well have a drink. His mouth started to water at the very thought, and the smell of cigarettes that surrounded the bar was slightly enticing, somehow they reminded him of his father. Not that Lucius smoked a great deal, usually just when he was stressed – or extremely satisfied. Lucius always made smoking look somehow sophisticated, even if he was doing it when stressed out of his head. Here in this bar the patrons made smoking look, well, _gay._

Draco smoked pot, and occasionally opium. He saw no use in nicotine. Still, it made the bar smell familiar.

And then he saw them and the world stopped turning.

********  
Against all that he'd planned, Harry was on to his third beer, sitting at the bar and still trying to work out how to get back to the castle without upsetting Fred. He had relaxed considerably however, and was taking jibes about his sex life with good humor.

"So, are you going to kiss me?" Fred asked again, considerably drunker now and eyeing Harry with unadorned lust.

"No." Harry grinned.

"Come on, do me a favor."

"Do _you_ a favor? Fred, you have more sex than anyone I've ever met!"

Fred nodded, conceding the truth, "well yeah, but Harry, I stick my tongue down your throat and I get instant mileage."

"You are such a sleaze."

"At least I enjoy myself."

Harry changed the subject; "How's Ron?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I'm his brother, he's probably told you more than he's told me. He seems alright."

"Is he happy at home?"

"With Mum? I guess so."

"She hurt him."

"We all did. Pansy is a good buffer between them though. Mum can be pretty suffocating when she wants to be, but Pansy seems to love being mothered."

"And what about George?"

Fred shrugged, "George is good. He's dealing with it."

"How is he with Ron?"

"They're good, they're talking, they both feel pretty guilty but they'll be ok." Fred leaned forward and placed a hand on Harry's knee, "So, you gonna kiss me?"

"You're like a fucking bloodhound, you know that?"

"I know what I want."

"You're going to hate me," Harry admitted, removing Fred's hand from his knee, "I have to go."

"What?" Fred sat back, "why?"

"I have to study, " Harry laughed, "and I told Draco I'd be back at a reasonable hour."

"Who is he, your mother?"

"No," Harry reasoned, "I have to talk to him, that's all."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

Harry guess that it probably could, he just didn't want it to. "I told him I'd be back, he'll be waiting for me."

Fred focused on his drink for a while, swirling what was left in the glass, his lips thinning out a little. "Harry," he said at last, "why did you come if you weren't going to stay? Why did you come if you were just going to sit here and be a miserable shit all night and then pick yourself up and go running back to the castle because poor little Draco is waiting for you?"

"I…" Harry frowned and he scowled at Fred, "because you wanted to go out and you kept mentioning it so I came with you. I'm sorry if I don't want to jump into bed with you or scream like a hyena and wave my arms around at anyone who'll look at me. What I don't get is just why you want me to be like that. If you'd just wanted to get a drink I probably wouldn't mind staying, but you've been at me since the minute we got here, _'kiss me, touch me, do you top or bottom?'_ It's fucked!"

"Ok…" Fred drew breath, "I'm sorry, I thought you might enjoy it – I was wrong obviously." He tried to smile but he was as annoyed as Harry by this point, "you could have tried to have fun though…and if you didn't want to come you should have said something so I didn't waste my time bringing you here!"

They both fell silent, both studying their drinks and looking vacantly at the dance floor.

"I think I'll go," Harry muttered.

"Kiss me first."

 _"Oh for fucks sake!"_

"Oh Come on! Just do it and I'll stop bothering you and you can run along home to your ex."

Harry scowled,

Fred nudged him, "Come on, live a little."

"And you'll never ask again? Ever?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Harry sighed and leaned forward and before he could think twice Fred's mouth crushed his.

********

 _Almost there…continued…_


	51. I Don't Want to Get Over You Part 8

**Chapter 18 – Part 8**

~~~~

They were frozen. Everything was frozen, everyone was frozen, time had stopped and the only thing that still breathed was Draco himself – and he was doubting his ability to do such a thing.

They were frozen. Frozen in that position. Mouths locked on each others. Harry's eyes weren't quite closed, his eyelids were flickering, almost inpercieveably, but Draco could see them. Weasley's hands were on his knees, but they slid up to his thighs, curved confidently over his hips and were suddenly squeezing Harry's butt.

And then they unfroze and their mouths started to move. Their tongues must be touching. Touching, caressing, tangling.

Harry's tongue working, just as it used to work in Draco's mouth.

Draco felt his breath catch and his lower lip began to tremble. _Don't cry, don't you fucking cry._ His face felt contorted. _Don't you fucking cry._ He knew he looked stricken. _Don't you fucking cry._

Harry and Weasley pulled apart, a thin trail of spit glistening in the strange blue lights above the bar, connecting them like some kind of transparent umbilical cord before it finally broke and slid down their chins. Weasley looked questioning and said something, and Harry wiped his chin and replied, and then they both laughed.

Draco wanted to vomit, but he knew if he tried he would only dry heave. His stomach felt twisted, as though someone had reached in and turned it over with painful efficiency. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to see their mouths on each other, he didn't want to see their mouths moving, he didn't want to see that sight replayed in his mind over and over again.

But he did see it. He did see it and it hurt and it burned and it ached and ached and ached.

 _Don't you fucking cry._

 _But Harry said he should come._

 _Don't you fucking cry._

 _But Harry said they could talk. Harry said he should come. Harry said…_

 _Not his Harry any more._

He hardened his face, or at least tried to. He shouldn't be here. This was not his world. Draco Malfoy did not belong here in a sleazy gay bar in Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy did not belong at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was Draco Malfoy, Lord of the Manor, and he belonged there, surrounded by his many possessions and tended to by his servants. He would leave this place and return there tonight. He would return to the place he belonged. He would return to the life he was supposed to live.

Draco Malfoy would survive this. He would become the man that his father raised him to be. He would become powerful and fearsome. He would control his business and those around him with the power of his will and the depth of their fear. He would take many lovers, one after another and he would draw them to him with his charms, draw their sympathy with his scars and discard them as efficiently as he would discard a broken quill. He would draw pleasure from them, perhaps even comfort and like his father he would grow more beautiful as he grew older and he would arrange to marry a Pureblood Witch and he would produce an heir and the cycle would start again.

And that was the way of things, that was how it was meant to be.

There were many who said that a life without love was a life not lived, but he would not live that life. Not any more. For the entire of his life Draco had lived in terror of physical pain. His father had only ever hit him once in his life that he could recall. He was four and had released the family House Elves and his father had been so angry. He could still remember the anger, and he could still remember the fear he felt. He could imagine that his father's victims had encountered that anger and he could pity them that. Lucius had beaten him almost senseless, and instilled in him a terror of pain. It wasn't until years later that he discovered that physical pain could be endured. He had endured it, and he had survived it. It was emotional pain that killed. It was emotional pain that caused you to slice open your arms, it was emotional pain that caused you to walk into the sea without hope, it was emotional pain that caused you to stand in a sleazy bar in Hogsmeade gulping for air and crying despite telling yourself not to fucking do it.

He was crying and he realised it now. He was gulping for air and his face was hot and wet and people were looking at him and judging him because he had lost and some red haired Weasley had taken the one thing he had loved more than his father and he had nothing except the length of his life ahead of him.

Draco drew a shuddered breath.

And Harry had turned his face and had seen him and panic crossed his features and he was moving and Draco saw Harry's mouth form his name but he didn't hear the words.

It was time to go. Time to go and get Miss Kitty and go home. Time to become himself again. Time to turn and run away, because he simply couldn't stand here anymore.

It was time to go.

*********  
"Well?"

Harry wiped spit from his chin with the back of his hand. In all seriousness it wasn't that bad. Actually it had been pretty good, but it was just the wrong person. He shrugged, "it was alright."

" _Alright?_ " Fred looked genuinely miffed, "That was more than alright mate, that was fantastic!"

"Yeah, it was good...but it was like…" Harry tried to think of the right words, "It was like kissing a… _brother_."

Fred's face now changed and he gave Harry a mortified glare, "Bloody hell Harry, that's sick!"

"I know! But that's what it felt like!"

"Well, thanks a lot!"

They both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Fred looked over at the dance floor and his eyes widened. "Well, it looks like you won't have to go back to the castle to talk to Draco."

"Huh?"

Fred nodded towards the dance floor, "he's right there."

Harry's head jerked around and his eye caught Draco's. "Oh fuck…oh Gods…oh fucking shit!" He felt dizzy, as though he would fall off the stool.

"What?" Fred looked from Draco back to Harry. "What's wrong?"

Harry slid off the stool, Draco had already turned and had fled the door. "He saw us!"

"Yeah, so? You said yourself that it was like kissing a brother!"

"But he doesn't know that!"

"And might I remind you that you're not with him any more? You can kiss anyone you want and he can't do anything to stop you!"

"I gotta go…"

Fred grabbed his arm, "Harry, don't go running after him, you didn't do anything wrong. If he can't accept it's over then it's his own problem."

"You don't understand…"

"Don't understand what? You don't want to upset him? You asked him to come and he said no, you didn't know that he was going to just turn up – _and_ even if he'd come with us, you can do what you want! What do you plan to do, walk on eggshells for the rest of your life in case he gets upset?"

"You don't understand that I was going to try and sort things out with him," Harry cried, "and now he thinks I've been out slobbering all over you!"

"It was hardly slobbering."

Harry pulled his arm out of Fred's grasp, a desperate noise escaping from his throat.

"Just calm down," Fred reasoned, "it's not that bad, but if you go running after him now you'll look guilty."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Yes it does. You're all upset, you'll look like you're making excuses."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing, he _would_ be making excuses; he'd be on his damned knees begging for forgiveness! He was almost jumping with his desperation to run after Draco and explain that he'd been a damn fool.

"Look, at least calm down before you go after him, you're not going to do any good if you start blubbering at him."

"Well I'm going to do more good blubbering at _him_ than I am standing here arguing with _you_!"

"It's not as though cheated on him or anything, God Harry, just calm down."

"Fucking hell Fred, when did you stop giving a shit about how other people feel? You think it's a good thing that Draco has run off thinking that I've been here snogging you all night? Hasn't anyone ever hurt you?"

"Well firstly, I _do_ care about how other people feel, and I personally don't care _what_ Draco Malfoy thinks so no on that score – and yes, of course someone has hurt me, but I'm telling you now, running after him while you're hysterical isn't going to do any good."

 _"I'M NOT FUCKING HYSTERICAL!"_

"Yes," Fred nodded, "you are."

Harry snorted and made that same desperate noise again, bouncing on his heels and feeling sick. "I have to go, I _really_ have to go."

Fred finished the last of his drink; "fine, go," but by the time Fred had finished his words, Harry was gone.

*********

Draco emerged from the heat of the club with the same relief a suffocating man feels when drawing a vital breath. The air outside was cool and crisp. It wasn't raining, for the first time in a long time, it wasn't raining. Not that rain mattered, it was cool and he could breathe at last – and there weren't dozens of people out here staring at him. The street was quiet; any stray couple must have found their way to a darkened alley or some such place that wasn't so public. And so the street was deserted and Draco found himself alone and trying to breathe.

He reasoned that he should just Apparate and go home. He didn't need to go back to the castle, there was nothing there that could not be packed up by a few considerate House Elves and forwarded on to the Manor. Those self same House Elves would no doubt take care of Miss Kitty until she could be sent to him.

But Miss Kitty was a small thing and she wouldn't understand if he didn't come to get her. He would go to the castle now and collect her, and then he would go. It wouldn't take any more than twenty minutes, and then they would be on their way.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. He needed to thing rationally. But closing his eyes only brought the image back with full force. The image of _them._

"Fuck! Harry…" He ran his hand through his dirty hair and just wanted to sink into the street and howl. It was out of the question of course. He was Draco Malfoy, he wasn't going to throw himself onto the cobblestones and scream. He couldn't stop himself from crying however, and as much as he tried to stop himself and simply breathe, he couldn't stop the tears. And so he was standing there in the street like some heart broken fourteen year old girl after a shitty Valentine's Day.

 _Damn him. Damn him for doing this. Damn him for saying he should come here. Damn him for making him feel this way._

Draco wiped his nose unceremoniously on his sleeve and his shame mounted as he truly realized just how he looked. Of course Harry had found someone else. Of course he was in there kissing some Weasel Boy. At least the Weasel Boy was showered and dressed and he'd shaved and done his hair and smelled of some kind of cologne. Draco was wearing one of Harry's old Weasley jumpers, the one with the big hole in it and now it had snot up the sleeve – and the shirt he had on underneath hadn't been washed. The jeans were dirty and he smelled like stale sweat and he didn't deserve anyone to love him.

He gulped a noisy breath and looked towards the shadow of the castle. He just had to go.

"Draco?"

He whirled around, jerking his chin in the direction of the voice. Not Harry's voice. Not Harry coming to get him or explain or hug him or apologize. The man who had spoken was taller and older and his voice when he uttered Draco's name was strangely elated in its surprise. Draco didn't know the voice and yet it was familiar, as though he remembered it from some half remembered dream. The man stood tall and straight. Taller than Draco, which surprised him because he was tall himself. He was hooded and cloaked, his face obscured by shadow. In his hand he carried a bag from one of the local stores; he had obviously been doing some kind of after hours business.

"It is you isn't it?" Once again, the voice was elated, "Yes of course it is, how could you not be, you look so very perfect."

"Do I know you?" Draco's voice was shaky, slightly hoarse. He sniffled involuntarily and narrowed his grey eyes.

"You look just like him, so incredibly like him." The man approached, one hand outstretched and Draco instinctively stepped back before that hand could touch his wet face. "But you're crying!" He sounded astonished, as though the idea of tears being shed was astonishing, "what devil dares cause such misery to make an angel weep?"

And Draco suddenly knew who this was. "You," he stepped back again, knowing he should just turn and run back into the bar, "You're the Curator…from the Museum."

"I have to say, this is only the second time I have seen you in the flesh and you take my breath away." Semeuse pushed the hood back a little, as though to get a better look. "Do you believe in kismet Draco? You being here, alone in this street, so obviously distressed. You look like a little urchin who requires rescuing. This was meant to be _My Little Dragon._ "

"I…" Draco found the handle of his wand in the pocket of his robes, "I need to go now, I'm expected."

Semeuse smiled, knowing full well that the boy's fingers had just curled around his wand. He stood still, staring at the child. Not really a child at all, he was a man in every sense of the word. But he was Lucius' child and the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He pushed gently and unnoticed into the boys mind and found the evenings events fresh and vivid there. He smiled again, fatherly, almost predatory. "No one is waiting for you Draco. My sweet beauty, a fool has caused you to weep – and yet, what sweeter sight could be seen than that of an Angels tears?"

"I have to go." Draco frowned and made to pull out his wand and Semeuse breathed out a long slow breath, a whisper seemed drawn out beneath it and Draco felt his body shudder and relax; his wand fell silently to the street.

"No one would miss you my darling one. No one cares. Except me. Except your father. You are alone Draco," Semeuse breathed the words and drew closer, "By some twist of fate some fool has left you alone." Semeuse extended his long fingers, his cool palm finding Draco's cheek and caressed it with reverent fascination.

Draco shuddered and tried to pull back, and found that his limbs would not cooperate with his mind.

"Don't fight the charm Draco, you will only hurt yourself."

Draco blinked and tried to quell the rising panic. Someone would come out soon, someone would find them. Harry would come out. He had gotten up when he saw Draco in the club, he would come after him. He would. He had to. Harry had saved countless people; surely he would spare a minute to save some pathetic ex-lover from this man.

"He is not coming for you, my darling." Semeuse traced a tear track with a boney finger, "He doesn't love you any more. He has moved on and found someone else. He was never worthy of you my love. He could never keep you, he did not deserve something so close to perfection, and he could never hold on to something so divine."

"I just want to go home," Draco murmured, his voice suddenly flat, "please just let me go home."

"You look so much like him." For Semeuse it was wondrous, as though he had found the greatest of hidden treasures. "You have his features, and yet you are more delicate I think, tainted by your mother's blood." He slid his hands over Draco's waist and was surprised at just how slight the boy was, the oversized jumper was misleading. "How like Angels you both are. You are, both of you, far too perfect for this realm; you belong with your own kind on the celestial planes, but I am the lucky one - I get to keep you both."

What was it about him that attracted utter nut cases? First Regina and now this freak. Or perhaps it was his father that attracted the nut bars and he just got caught in the cross fire. Draco was fully aware of just who the Curator was referring to when he referred to _him_ , and while Draco knew that the men of his family were good looking, to suggest that they bore some kind of celestial visage was a little far fetched. More than a little, it was downright ludicrous.

"Your father loves you Draco…" Semeuse soothed, his hands caressing that slender waist, "he was willing to do so much to protect you." he moved one hand back to Draco's face, delicately rubbing his thumb across Draco's soft mouth, "But you are so very delectable, you are like him, the sweetest morsel on a platter and irresistible. How could I leave you here? My Angel will get over it, he might even learn to enjoy it. You might even learn to enjoy it, Draco. Imagine it sweet one, you are perfect – and he is beyond that plane – and so you would be the perfect compliment to each other, the only real compliment to each other that is possible. The two of you, entwined, swimming in oceans of pleasure, how erotic, how sensual, can't you just see it Draco?"

Draco's mouth opened and closed and then he realized exactly what the Curator was implying.

 _Oh yeah, he's a nut bar, this is just great. First Harry leaves me for some Weasel Boy and now this old pervert wants to watch me fuck my father – I have the best luck._

"He's my father." But of course the Curator already knew that, and Draco knew that the Curator knew that. Still, it bore being said, just to ram the point home, perhaps illustrate just how very sick the concept was.

"He's perfect, Draco – and you're perfect. Think about your life, think about who you are and how you were raised. Only the best will do for you, and he is the very best." Semeuse smiled, grasping Draco behind his head, tangling his fingers in his pale hair. "I know who your lover was, a hero, _our_ hero. Harry Potter. I can see how you mistook him for the best you could possibly have, but he was there all along, right under your nose. I am only going to help you find him. He loves you, and I love you, and that is all that matters."

"How could you love me, you don't know me."

Semeuse actually shrugged, "beyond your beauty my sweet, your mind means little to me."

Draco almost smiled, he had always suspected as much. He tried to pull himself out of the Curator's grasp and found that he could indeed move again. He stepped back, pulling himself from the old man's hands. If he could move fast enough he could get back into the bar. The Curator was an old man, Draco could get away, even if it did mean leaving his wand lying there on the ground.

Then again, what was the old man going to do? Snatch him off the street? Even if the Curator used _Imperio_ to control Draco, forcing someone to Apparate was risky at best and trying to Apparate with someone could spell disaster. Then again, he could have a Portkey and Draco was basically fucked unless he got inside. Draco also knew that age was not something that he could really count on as a factor to slow the man down. Anyone who knew Albus Dumbledore knew full well that when it came to Wizards, with age came power.

But if the old buzzard was so powerful, why would he choose to be a Museum Curator?

 _Because he's a fucking freak, that's why!_

"Don't walk away, Draco. There is nothing to hold you here. You are alone, Draco, desperately alone, and I can feel your pain. What drove you from that bar right now? I can see it, Draco, he broke your heart, he doesn't love you, but then, how could he? He doesn't understand you, he doesn't understand where you come from, he is a half blood, he has no concept of your life and the beauty that dwells within you."

"Harry understands me…he…"

"He left you, Draco."

Draco frowned and stepped back again. How did he know these things? Another proficient in Legilemancy? Or something else?

"Everyone leaves you in the end Draco, they always will. There is only one who would never choose to be apart from you, and I have him…he missed you so much…"

"He doesn't want me to be near you. He doesn't want me to be anywhere near that museum."

That was surprising, and Draco had the mild satisfaction of seeing the Curator look a little shocked. "I see Lucius has been testing his boundaries, I'll deal with him later." He smiled wanly. "He likes to try me, it's like a game to him." He noticed the look on Draco's face, "You thought it was a dream did you? Oh no, it was very much him. He is perfectly conscious, didn't you know? I did think that the little Elf spy would have told you that much – or perhaps he told your greasy Godfather and the message was not passed on. Perhaps they didn't think you deserved to know. Perhaps they didn't think you important enough to know. It doesn't matter either way, Lucius is mine, Draco, and I will not give him up simply because his whelp misses him."

Draco blinked back fresh tears and hardened his face.

"But what a beautiful whelp you are Draco." Semeuse reached for him again and his fingers closed around the fine chains that hung around Draco's throat. He pulled the two pendants out from beneath Draco's shirt and inspected them thoughtfully. "You love beautiful things Draco," he murmured, "and so do I, you see, we already have this in common."

Draco frowned. The pendants were his mother's locket which he agreed was beautiful, the other was a tiny vial of Navitas, hardly a thing to gush over. Harry hadn't come out of the club yet and Draco finally began to doubt that he would. Perhaps he just didn't care – it didn't matter anyway, he had to try and get himself out of this situation, he just wasn't sure how. "Just leave me alone," he said firmly, his voice full of false bravado, "I have to get back to the castle, I'm expected."

"I can't leave you alone, Draco." The Curator's voice was lilting, hypnotic; Draco recognized the trick from his last encounter with the man and stepped back again. "Don't walk away little one, you can't, you belong with me – and your father."

Draco had heard enough, he couldn't stand any more and it would be better inside the club than it was here with this man. He turned to go, forgetting that the Curator still held the pendants in his hand.

Semeuse yanked hard on the chains, jerking Draco's head back and causing him to catch his breath painfully in his throat as the chains gave way with a snap. Semeuse raked his fingers through Draco's hair and snapped his head back.

Draco vaguely heard the pendants hit the ground and his body was pulled back so that the Curator was pressed hard against his back. The old man's free hand snaked around his body and Draco felt the sharp tip of a wand dug hard into his ribs.

"I told you, Draco, you belong with me." Semeuse pulled a little harder on Draco's hair, pulling his head back and causing an involuntary yelp to escape his lips. "Don't fight me, Draco, you can't win."

Draco lashed out hard, kicking back, the heel of his boot connecting with the Curator's shins, eliciting a groan and a sharp tug on his hair. It didn't matter, let the bastard pull most of his hair out, it would grow back.

But the man was far stronger than he looked and the arm around Draco's waist tightened and the wand under his ribs dug in deeper.

 _Oh Gods, I'm not going to get away from this freak._

And then Harry came out of the club, running, looking frantically around, so intent on finding what direction Draco went in that he didn't see at first what was right in front of his eyes.

 _Oh thank you God, thank you God, thank you God._

"It's time to go little one," Semeuse whispered, his eye on Harry who had finally seen and was reaching for his wand.

 _"HARRY!"_

Semeuse actually managed to chuckle in Draco's ear before he dug the wand harder into his ribs and whispered "Stupefy."

Draco slumped into the Curator's grasp and Semeuse smiled at Harry, even as Harry opened his mouth to utter a curse. He touched the clasp on his cloak and before Harry could finish his curse they were gone, vanishing into the night air with nothing to prove that they had even been there, save the two pendants and Draco's wand lying on the ground.

Harry stood alone in the cold night air, his heart pounding in his chest and the desolation of despair settling quickly into his gut.

********

 _ **NOTES:**_ _  
Thanks to Ann for Betaing, it was a very long chapter and it no doubt gave her grief._

 _Only two more chapters to go! And an epilogue…_

 _Az_


	52. Resolutions

_Disclaimer: See Prologue_

This chapter contains some nasties that some people may not like reading about. These scenes are supposed to be horrific and are not intended to be any form of erotic display. You have been warned...

 **Chapter 19** ****

 **Resolution**

The sky opened with sudden ferocity and sheets of dark rain ripped and flapped like wind whipped banners over the Quidditch pitch.

Harry stood in the sodden street, unable to move, numbed by fear and frozen by the cold rain. His wet hair was plastered flat to his head and hung in wet ropey lengths to his shoulders. His clothes pasted themselves to his skin, and the absurd notion that he must get in out of the rain lest he catch cold ran through his head so quickly that he almost laughed. But he could not move. His feet felt stuck and despite being wet his body seemed oblivious to the sudden storm and the cold air. His eyes were owlishly large, as though he were high. The strange smile that had appeared on his face faded and he felt his features contort in shock.

He could still hear Draco's voice in his head, screaming out his name. He could hear the sound of panic ringing in the air, echoed in the howling wind and tormenting Harry. Taunting him with the fact that he had failed. He had come out too late. Draco was gone and it was all Harry's fault.

Lightening cracked the sky open and for a brief moment the pouring rain glittered with a preternatural light that seemed to come from heaven itself. Then the subsequent thunder rolled away and Harry was left alone in the flooding street.

Harry took a step forward, uncertain of exactly what he should do. Standing there, soaked to the skin in the rain, Harry Potter's famous resilience failed him. He didn't know what to do. He did not know what first move he should make. He could not fathom what had happened. One minute Draco had been there, the next he was gone. There had been a man there. Tall and willowy. Old. He had smiled at Harry, as if to mock him, and then he had taken Draco away.

In the street, threatened by the rushing water from the gutters, lay Draco's wand and nearby, falling between the cobblestones, Harry could see the pendant that Draco never removed and something else.

Harry crouched down, sitting on his haunches and scooped up these precious things in freezing hands. Tangled with the chain of the pendant were the remains of the tiny phial of Navitas. It had broken when it had hit the hard stones. The last of the luminous green liquid washed away through Harry's fingers. Harry made to sigh but was startled by the sound that came from his throat. A high pitched half sob that rent the air above the sound of rain. These were Draco's things, so personal to him that Harry could almost feel Draco's aura seeping from every part of them and permeating the flesh of Harry's palms. He lifted the locket to his mouth. It was cold; Harry could feel the grit from the street against the soft skin on his lip. He pulled it away and shivered. The locket had been scratched. Harry doubted that anyone had ever dropped it before. It had been a gift of love from Lucius Malfoy to his wife, and Narcissa Malfoy would never have let it fall. Neither would Draco. The broken chain was evidence enough that it had been torn from around his neck. Torn and allowed to fall, as though it was nothing.

The man who had come and taken Draco did not care about him. The man who had taken the love of Harry's life did not know him. He did not know that Draco needed the Navitas Serum to survive. He did not know how special that locket was. Had he cared and had he known, he would never have let these things fall. The man had simply taken him and he did not care what Draco needed.

And then, as suddenly as the rain had come, the realization hit Harry full force.

Some one had come and taken Draco. A man had stupefied him and taken him. Taken him away from Harry. And Harry suddenly felt hollowed out, as though there was nothing left inside him at all. It had all gone with Draco.

Hunching over the things in his hands Harry knew that he had to act. He had to pull himself together. From inside the building behind him he was suddenly aware of the dull throb of music, barely heard over the roar of the rain. Harry knew her couldn't stay here. He could not stay squatting in the street and staring at Draco's things. He rocked himself back and forth in the same way he had as a neglected child, trying desperately to comfort himself. In his hands he nursed Draco's possessions, knowing that doing this was not going to bring Draco back.

But despair had reached into his chest and grabbed his heart in icy fingers and now all he could see was the image of Draco's panicked face, as though it was some hideous and threatening vision.

Harry frowned at his own weakness. How could he be falling apart? He was Harry Potter! This was the one thing he was good at! He had always saved people. He had always charged off without hesitation to confront the bad guy. He did not know fear, he had been trained to confront and destroy his enemies, he had been trained to save the world!

So why couldn't he move now? Why wasn't he leaping into action and seeking out the man who had taken Draco away?

Because he loved Draco too much and all he could think was what if he found him could be too late? If Draco was dead Harry couldn't stand to see it. He couldn't stand to see Draco lying somewhere with his beautiful grey eyes staring sightlessly into space. Harry had seen so much death. He had seen loved ones die – but he knew he couldn't see this one.

And so he stayed where he was, squatting on his haunches and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, getting drenched to the skin in the rain. All around him was the wet smell of rain and beneath that the earthy scent of the forest that surrounded the village and castle. The smell of the foliage seemed close, a damp undercurrent of decay that invaded Harry's senses. It had been an evil night and Harry grasped Draco's things tighter, clutching them to his heart. He couldn't stand this. It was too hard.

But out there somewhere Draco was waiting for him.

A group of people came out of the club behind him and the sudden sound of laughter and merry chatter brought him to himself. Harry forced himself to stand, Draco's wand and locket still clasped tightly in his hand. Draco was waiting for him, Harry was sure of it. Draco would fight any attack, no matter how futile the fight. Draco was strong mentally if not physically. He would hold on as long as he could. And so Harry had to find him before his need for Navitas killed him – or the man who took him did.

Who had taken him? Why had a man came and stolen him away?

Harry took one step forward, and then another. Although the rain was cold he had begun to sweat. And then, as though something unspoken clicked within him, he began to run towards the forest and the castle that lay beyond.

There was no time to go back to the road that led back to the castle. Harry had wasted whatever time he'd had by shivering in shock. He made for the forest, knowing that if he crossed it he would reach the castle walls. He ran through the stinging rain and up the rugged hill and he felt as though he had never run so fast. He ran as though the devil was behind him, his arms tucked close to his sides, gasping for breath, his legs pumping hard, each stride jarring him to the bone.

Ahead lay Hogwarts and inside the only salvation he had ever known. Dumbledore would know what to do. Dumbledore would overcome the shock that had numbed Harry's brain; Dumbledore would know how to act. Harry kept these mantras' going, chanting them over and over through his mind and using the panic to propel him forward.

Lightening again slashed open the belly of the sky and Harry almost stopped as the castle was illuminated in the foreground. It seemed so close, and he felt as though he could reach out to touch it, but he knew he had a way to go.

Salvation. That was what the castle had always been to Harry. There were thousands of places to hide there, places where Harry had hidden for years. It was also a place of wise council, even if Harry rarely took much notice of it. It was a place where help was always available to those who asked for it.

He kept running, redoubling his efforts to reach his sanctuary. The ground was wet beneath his feet, spongy and slippery and seeking to trap him. Harry expected to fall at least once because something _had_ to go wrong, but he didn't. He kept his footing as he plunged through the trees, plunging through the darkness of shadows and lush undergrowth. He began to think that perhaps there was a chance- maybe only a small chance, but a chance none the less – that he might just be able to get to Draco in time.

*******

For a man who had spent his entire life calculating his every move, Severus Snape had gone decidedly overboard on impulsive acts this year. Some people enjoyed change, they enjoyed life when it took turns to the unexpected and thrived on surprises. Snape was not one of these people. He enjoyed the outcome of a well orchestrated plan, the monotony of his life had made it predictable, and changes as vast as the ones his life had recently undergone caused him to thrill with terror. He felt out of control for the first time in a good many years, as though life was flying along and he was hanging on for dear life with a death like grip.

Not that all change was necessarily a bad thing. Lying on the floor of Harry Potter's house in London with his wife (well almost wife, they had to wait a month to get married after registering the papers) straddling him was certainly a change, but he would not call it a bad one. Hermione was sitting astride him, holding her hand out to the fire light to admire her new diamond ring. Severus had wanted to get her something like an Elysium stone or something equally as powerful. Diamonds had little magical merit and in the Wizarding world they were considered something of a pauper's stone and he was quite frank in his reasoning that he didn't want to appear cheap. Hermione insisted on the diamond however. She had grown up with Muggles and they apparently placed great worth in the stones and so she had chosen a setting that she loved and now she was sitting happily atop Severus' belly admiring the way it glittered in the fire light.

"You like your ring?" He asked needlessly.

"I love my ring," Hermione replied pulling her gaze away from her finger, "it is so beautiful, just like my grandmother's."

Severus did not know if that was such a good thing. He didn't like the idea that he had purchased something that resembled some old Muggle bauble.

"I used to take her rings off her dresser and try them on. I always wanted her wedding rings." Hermione looked dreamy for a moment and then she suddenly giggled as though still a little giddy.

Then her expression demurred and she ran her hands down the length of his arms and clamped his wrists down to the floor.

"Now, Professor," She said seductively, " _you_ are my captive."

He smirked. " _You_ are going to have to let go of me to take your clothes off."

"Now, now Professor, don't get ahead of yourself, and who said anything about me taking my clothes off?"

"Oh, I think you'll be naked before the night is through."

Hermione released him and held her hand out to the fire light again. "Even though I can let go at any time," she said breezily, "it doesn't mean you can escape." She yawned dramatically and stretched, ensuring that her diamond glittered for her. "Besides, I think I'll be taking your clothes off, not mine."

"You think so?"

"I do." She giggled again and ran her fingers down the front of his shirt, fiddling with his buttons as she did so. "Now, this is a really dodgy shirt, you really don't need this shirt."

"You prefer robes?"

"On you, definitely."

He didn't take offence. He was a Wizard, and it was only natural that Magical garb would suit him infinitely better than shabby old Muggle clothes. And as she was currently popping the buttons off the shirt with her wand, taking offence seemed a little pointless.

Hermione lifted herself a little so that she could pull the shirt tails out of his pants and then she settled herself back down and pulled the shirt open to reveal the pale flesh beneath. She felt him breath in, exposing ribs jutting out in stark relief from his body. He was not beautiful. She was not so blinded by love that she could not see him for what he was. He was thin and pale with a great hooked nose and greasy hair.

"How did you do it?" She asked.

"How did I do what?"

"At the party, for New Years…how did you make yourself look like that?"

"I didn't look like me?"

"No…yes. You looked like you – but you looked different."

"It was Minerva. She spent most of her day doing various glamour's to hide my vast array of imperfections. Why? Would you prefer it if I hid them for you?"

"Would you?"

He considered this. "Yes," he said carefully, "if that's what you want."

She looked down at him, taking in his body, his sharp jaw, the heaviness of his brow and the beak like hook of his nose. "No," she said, "I wouldn't have you change anything. You're perfect just the way you are."

"Hardly perfect."

"You're perfect for me," she said.

And he was. She sighed softly at her choice. He was complex and dark, and yet over the past year he had learned more about him than she would ever have considered possible. She could finally see what she had always suspected but could scarce believe was there. She could see the good in him. He was no romantic hero, but he was all hers. Every complex part of him. She could lose herself in his darkness and bathe in his light. He was everything she could ever have hoped for and she was lucky because she didn't have to spend her lifetime searching for him. He had always been there, and he always would be.

He lay compliantly beneath her as she slid his sleeves down his arms and helped her when she couldn't unbutton the cuffs. Once she had the shirt off, she slid down his body and began unbuttoning his trousers. He raised himself up on his elbows and watched her, smiling a tiny smile at the look of concentration on her face as she slid the zip over the growing ridge of his erection.

"I don't know where you got these trousers," she muttered shaking her head. "You have a nice suit, so it's not that you don't have any taste in clothes…"

"Sabine brought the suit," he admitted.

"Professor Delancet?"

"She has better taste in Muggle clothes than I do." He scowled at his own admission.

"So, who got you these awful things?"

"Oh, that was me. I got them some time in the late eighties for emergency trips into the Muggle world."

"Well they have to go."

"I thought you were getting rid of them," he prompted.

She laughed and started to pull his trousers down.

"You need to take the boots off first," he said.

Hermione wasn't listening, intent on her task, as she yanked and pulled his trousers slowly down towards his feet.

"Hermione, you need to take my boots off first…Hermione…boots first…Hermione…OW!"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. "Oh, that didn't hurt!"

"It did!"

"It did not! How could that have hurt?"

"You tried to pull my foot off!"

She stuck her tongue out and started working on his boots and socks and he lay back down and covered his eyes with his arms, deciding that it might be better not to watch her progress.

She slipped off her own shoes and knelt down beside him. His legs were long and pale and covered with dark hairs which she loved the feel of beneath her palm as she skimmed her hand over his thighs.

She finally managed to pull the offending clothes off him and then ran her fingers up his legs. He bent one boney knee and she slipped her hand ticklishly over the inside of this thigh. His muscles tensed and he moaned, low and soft. He didn't look at her. He wasn't sure if he could without coming all over his belly.

Devilish fingers tickled his balls and he thunked his head back against the floor. "Hermione…" He made a frustrated sound in his throat, "Enough of this…let's get to it!"

Hermione chuckled with a sound that was nothing short of evil. "Now, I thought you were all about patience, Professor?"

"Where did you learn this?" He growled.

Hermione looked doe eyed. "Why, you taught me Professor," she said innocently, "and I always thought you were a very good teacher – despite your disposition."

He peered out from under the visor of his arms. "I am a Potions Master Miss Granger, and you learnt all of this on your own."

Hermione chuckled again and silently thanked Lavender, Harry and Draco for having no discretion about where they discussed their sex life and who they discussed it in front of. "Well then, perhaps there are some lessons you would like to learn."

He made the same frustrated sound he had made a moment earlier before saying; "I could have you under me in a matter of seconds, you do realize that don't you?"

She batted her eyes coquettishly in a way that disturbingly reminded him of Lavender Brown. "But don't you want to know what I'll take off next?"

They both looked down his body to his black underwear.

Hermione licked her lips like an evil little kitten. "Or how I'll remove it?" she purred.

Severus groaned and decided that he could possibly hold on for a few more minutes.

She inched her fingers under the band of his underwear and was amazed by the heat she found there. Her clever fingers sort out the source of that heat and it stirred, swelling just that little bit more, and for some absurd reason she felt the need to laugh. She tried to smother the sound but couldn't stop the resulting snigger.

Severus jack-knifed up to a sitting position and glared. "What are you doing? What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing!" She smiled and the snigger came out again. She clamped her mouth shut as she saw his look. "I'm sorry, it's just so hot down there…it's like you're going to combust."

He scowled and peeled out of his underwear in an instant, moving so fast she almost missed what happened. Then he threw the offending garment over her shoulder and flinched when they landed dangerously close to the fire.

Hermione pressed her mouth into a Minerva-like line and shook her head. "Severus, you are not a very good student! Throwing your underpants at the fire, they could have caught and the house could have burned down!"

"That is highly unlikely, Hermione."

Her smile returned and she tickled him under his chin. "Good. Now lie down so I can get on with the lesson."

Severus collapsed with another frustrated groan.

Hermione studied him, taking in the sight of him lying naked on the floor. All hers to do with as she pleased. In the firelight his erection had a primal beauty, like some kind of ancient fertility symbol. She tentatively ran her fingers along the length of his cock and smiled at his sharp intake of breath. He smelled musky and clean and she lowered her head, seeking to take him into her mouth.

"No…" he stopped her, lifting her face with his long fingers, "I can't…" his breathing was ragged, "I need you now, I can't wait…"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes wide and belying the sexual innocence that was still left in her. She was amazed that he could want her so much and for the first time she was struck by the extent of her feminine powers. More so than her own magic, she was powerful in this way and she could hold her power over her lover. One day she would use this power with agonizing skill during their erotic play, but on this night she was still unsure as to how far she could push him – and her own need was becoming great.

She stripped off her own panties and lifted herself onto his supine body. She pulled her skirt up over her hips as his engorged cock insinuated itself along her crevice.

Snape's hands fastened on her waist and she rose at their urging. She leaned forward slightly, her hand splaying across his slick chest for balance. With trembling fingers she guided him so the blunt tip of his cock was poised at her entrance. Her thighs tensed and she paused for a long moment as anticipation gilded her senses, then slowly she sank herself onto him, until his distended thrusting shaft was fully enveloped inside her. A carnal moan flew uninhibited from her mouth in response to the thrill of being so licentiously filled.

Her hips rocked in a sensuous rhythm; her eyes rolled beneath downcast lids. He felt so good. It felt so good to have every part of her filled. "Is this why you want to marry me?" she asked in dulcet tones.

He grunted. She could feel his hips working, his buttocks clenching and unclenching. "No…" he grunted again at the effort of working in and out of her, "I want to marry you because I love you….fucking you is just cream on the side."

She slid up the length of him and impaled herself on his thickness again and again. Snape tightened his grip on her waist and rammed her down as his hips rose with equal force and she cried out, exulted as she was showered by sparks of sizzling pleasure that seemed to rain over her skin.

He thrust up into her over and over, establishing a hard steady rhythm. She threw back her head and rode him wildly, the overwhelming sensation of sizzling sparks intensified and doubled and redoubled until she felt herself reach tinder point as she came, her flesh burning in waves of convulsive ecstasy.

And yet, he was still hard inside her and she couldn't quite believe she had come first. Out of breath she slumped forward and once again steadied herself with a hand on his chest. He murmured a question, letting his hand slide down to her hips to help her grind against him in unison with his own.

"No," she panted, her body still shaking , "keep going…it's good…keep going…" The solid gratification of having him inside her was all consuming; her blood still ran hot through her veins and her desire renewed itself as she came alive and began to rock again.

He reached up and tore at the buttons down the front of her shirt until it hung open and he could slid fingers under the lacey cups of her pale pink bra. She leaned forward, wanting only to kiss him, but instead of a kiss he grabbed her and rolled and suddenly she found herself flat on the floor as he had threatened and he was mounted on top of her, still inside her, still thrusting hard into her body.

"Told you so," he gloated and his lip curled into an evil smile.

She sighed sweetly, happy for him to be right and so pleased with the sensation of being taken that she didn't notice his hand slide down between them both until his fingertip found the hardened pearl of her clit. She drew a sharp breath and writhed as he kept up relentless pressure on the over sensitized bud.

"Don't," she sobbed raggedly, "It's too much…it's too good."

But he had her wide open and he was unrelenting. He stared at her as he worked in and out of her, his black eyes seemed not like eyes but dark pools with no end. "I want to see your face," he whispered, "I want to see you come."

And then he thrust so deep into her that she felt his presence in every cell of her body. As if his words released her she felt another climax take hold and rock through her with such force that she couldn't discern whether she felt pleasure or pain.

His mouth clamped down over hers in hot obsession as his own coursing climax arrived. Her fingers plunged into his hair, pulling painfully and holding him fast as their kisses deepened and became almost suffocating. When finally his thrusts subsided, he collapsed beside her, pulling her with him into his arms so that their contact was not broken for a moment.

It seemed an age that they lay there and it wasn't until they grew cold that they realized that the fire had died down. He stroked the soft swell of her stomach, brushing his fingers from hip bone to hip bone and idly wondered just how a child would fit into such a small space. She would grow and her belly would distend and the child would live in there. His child would live there. Their child. But for now her belly was little more than a small mound, soft to the touch and yet hard if he exerted any pressure.

With a purring sound she moved herself against him and wound her arms around his neck and tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder. Her lips moved against his skin.

He waited for her to speak, but she didn't.

"We have to go back tomorrow," he murmured, tangling fingers through her thick hair.

"I know," she said and kissed his cooling flesh. "I don't want to think about it."

"It won't be for long, exams are next month." He shifted, sitting up and drawing her up with him, "it's cold down here. We should go to bed before you get sick."

Hermione breathed in, stretched and suddenly she coughed out a laugh, unsure if she should tell Harry that she had just christened his lounge room floor.

*******

Ron Weasley gnawed on his thumb nail and stared at his battered chess board. His few remaining pieces stared back at him helplessly, some called out suggestions, most just looked at him with dismay that he was losing yet another game to the dark haired girl sitting opposite. They were sitting cross legged on the floor and Ron hunched down to contemplate the fact that he just couldn't seem to beat her.

As far as chess went, Pansy Parkinson had his balls in a vice. He had always thought her so utterly vapid and yet she successfully kicked his arse almost every time they played. He had thought that perhaps once he left the hospital and was home, in his own surrounds, he would regain his edge with the game. But he had not. He was not even close. And he had no idea if it was because she was just too good or because he was losing it altogether.

She was very good at this game.

And this house was no longer his home. He should never have seen coming here as some kind of salvation. It wasn't. He should have demanded to go home. Home was in London now. Home was Grimmauld Place. The Burrow had ceased to be his home so long ago and it was less so now.

Especially now.

"Alright both of you, it's getting late. I have medicine for both of you and then it's off to bed."

Ron cringed inwardly at the unnaturally happy tone in his mother's voice. She was smiling the same awful smile that she had been wearing since he'd arrived at The Burrow. He hated that sound and he hated that smile and he hated the unspoken "your own separate beds" that seemed to hover over the end of every night when she cheerfully said that same line no matter what they were doing. _"Alright both of you, it's getting late. I have medicine for both of you and then it's off to bed. (Your own separate beds)"_

Ron tried to offer some kind of reassuring smile and wished that his mother would just say what was on her mind. He watched her eyes sweep over him, past his face and down his long slender arms. His smile faltered. He should never have worn a T-shirt today. He should have pulled a jumper on when it grew cool instead of casting a warming charm over himself. But he hadn't, and Molly's eyes caught on the long purple scars running down the pale flesh of his inner arms and she pulled away, her face contorted.

Pansy looked at Ron dismayed and Ron rubbed his arms subconsciously. Molly had retreated to the safety of the kitchen and was staring at the clock on the shelf. Ron knew what she was looking at. The hand that told her that he was home, safe and sound. He pushed himself up off the floor and went to his mother, unsure of exactly what to say to her but hoping that whatever did come out his mouth might open her up a little. "It's alright mum," he said, "I'm fine…"

Molly jumped a little and turned away from the clock. She bustled to the small bench space and began preparing the sedation brew that St Mungo's had sent home with her two charges.

Ron looked at the hated potion and grimaced. He wished she would speak. He wished she would say something other than the obligatory niceties that were required of a nursemaid. He wished she would yell or scream or something.

"I'm sorry," he said from behind her, "mum, I'm really sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for darling," Molly said briskly. She measured the brew into glasses. "We all know what happened. Angelina caused this, she planned it and she succeeded…" she closed her eyes and corrected herself, "almost succeeded."

"Mum…" Ron stopped, not sure if he could stand going over the same ground yet again. He would apologize and she would dismiss him. Then he would be left with the same nagging feeling in his gut – that they couldn't stay here. Or at least, he couldn't stay here. Molly treated Pansy well enough, but then Pansy had no choice in her malady and Ron – well Ron had chosen his path – or at least that was the way Ron saw it.

He wouldn't have been surprised to find that he was not far from the truth in that assumption. Molly added a fairly heavy dose of guilt into the mix.

"Here you go," Molly said, he forced cheer returning with her fake smile as she handed the glass of sedation draft over to Ron, "you drink this and I'll make you some hot chocolate to take to bed with you."

Ron accepted the glass but didn't drink it. He tipped it into a potted plant that was looking a little worse for its diet over the last week. Molly was giving Pansy her own glass and Pansy was accepting and giving Ron a guilty look just before taking a sip big enough to satisfy Molly and then quickly disposing of the rest as soon as Molly turned away. It was a tactic they had agreed on in the rare moments when they could have a private conversation.

Molly collected Ron's glass and gave him a quizzical look. For a moment he was convinced that she knew and waited for her to say something about it. Nothing was uttered however and he felt a little loss for it. He had no intentions other than going to bed and going to sleep, but he just didn't want to be drugged to do it. He felt a measure of guilt about deceiving his mother, but they had discussed it whilst he was still in the hospital and she felt secure knowing he was drugged asleep in his bed at night. She lived in dread at the idea that she would wake one morning to find him dead and Ron had to admit that the melancholia that plagued him was still there – but it had abated considerably since Pansy had come to The Burrow with him.

"Do you want Hot Chocolate?" Molly asked and for a brief moment she sounded like his mother again and not the strangely sweet nurse that had replaced her.

Ron, who had eaten more in the last two weeks than he had in months, smiled gently and replied; "yeah, that'd be nice mum."

Molly seemed to let out a held breath. She bustled back to the archway that led to the lounge. "Pansy, come and have  
some hot chocolate dear, and then you can get off to bed."

*********

The air in the bedroom was cold and Hermione watched Severus set a fire in the grate. She had thought it wise to put on some nightclothes and once again set to cursing Lavender for taking her practical pajamas out of her bag and replacing them with silk nightgowns. Severus would keep her warm however, of that she had little doubt.

"Severus?" she asked, not really thinking about what she was saying.

"Mmm?"

"Lucius Malfoy…" She stopped, instantly realizing what she was saying and knowing that perhaps it was not the wisest topic she ever brought up.

Severus stood up in front of the fire and beneath the harsh cotton of his nightshirt she saw his body stiffen. "What about Lucius?"

"Nothing…it was nothing."

Which of course instantly alerted him the fact that it was indeed something. "What did you want to know?" he asked, and his voice was slightly more formal and as stiff as his body.

"What…" she began to chew her lip and he knew then that she was hiding something from him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "what do you want to know about Lucius?"

"It's not so much about Mr. Malfoy," she said, "it's more about you."

If this surprised him he didn't let it show. "What did you want to know about me?" he asked quietly.

"What were you planning to do with him?"

He frowned. "Planning to do with him? What do you mean?"

"In his journal there is a potion and an incantation and a lot of different notes that you made, and if I follow what you've written, I can only think that Mr. Malfoy is not entirely…gone and that you have put some kind of spy in the museum...someone he can communicate with...and that this potion he wrote down is in fact some way to help release him from whatever state he is in."

He remained silent while she said this all in one breath, and then when she finished he checked his temper and said in a voice barely above a whisper; "and how do you know all of this?"

"I…" she blushed and began to gnaw at her mouth again. "I read his journal."

"Recently I assume?"

She hesitated. "Well…yes," she said defiantly, "I read it recently."

"Interesting that you have read it recently when try as I might I have been unable to find it."

She swallowed and straightened herself, unable to look him in the eye but trying to appear confident anyway. "I took it," she said as plainly as she could.

"I see." He sat on the edge of the bed, but his expression had darkened, his voice had become silky and suddenly he was talking to a student again, and not the woman he was going to marry. "And what made you think you should do that?"

"I only wanted to read it," she explained, but it sounded to her ears as though she was protesting something. "But then when I did read it we realized what you were going to do and we couldn't let you do that – so we kept it."

"We?" A grim smile, a triumphant one, flashed across his mouth for a moment, "You and Potter." It was not a question, because Severus knew instinctively just who had read the journal.

"Harry had nothing to do with taking it. I got it because he wanted to understand something about Draco and I thought it might help. And I remembered reading something about a potion on Valentine's Day, and I wanted to find out more about that." She frowned at him, "But, all of that is beside the point! Severus, how can you even contemplate setting that man loose?"

Severus stared at her. "Why do you think you know what I was going to do? The last time I checked you had not managed to master Legilimancy, and even if you had I keep my mind closed so you would never have been able to tell." He didn't wait for her to answer. "If you had bothered to ask…"

"You wouldn't have told me! You weren't even speaking to me at that…"

"If you had managed to ask," he said a little more forcefully, "I _would_ have told you what my plan was."

"And what _was_ your plan?"

"Arthur Weasley will be made Minister of Magic next month…"

"That's not a certainty," Hermione interjected.

"He will be Minister," Severus insisted. "One of his first orders of business will be to overhaul Azkaban. The Dementors' are to be dismissed. My plan was to speak with Arthur Weasley and to make some kind of arrangement for Lucius to go to Azkaban."

"But Lucius Malfoy could escape from Azkaban, even with Dementors," Hermione said, "you know that!"

"There are ways around that, things that can be done to prevent him from going anywhere."

"How?" she demanded.

"There's a potion," he said uncomfortably. "It's ancient, and it does not have a name."

"What does it do?"

He looked horribly grim for a moment. "It stops people like Lucius Malfoy escaping from Azkaban."

"How?"

He looked at her, wondering how it was that he had come to be with such a demanding woman. Was there no end to her questions? Could she not simply believe him?

"How?" she asked again. She glared at him, demanding to know everything and he knew he would have to tell her.

"It is not a potion that is spoken of in our world, the Gods only know why it was created in the first place and its use has long been considered unthinkable."

"What does it do?" she asked. "What could be a worse than the Dementors?"

"What does a Pureblood – especially one like Lucius Malfoy – prize above all things?"

"Money?"

Severus smiled at her naivety. "No, my darling, not money. He likes money, but it is not what he prizes above all things."

"Then what is it, what could Lucius Malfoy love more than money?"

"Many things, his son for one – but that's not the point either. His greatest asset and the thing he prizes above all others is his power."

"He has no power now," she protested, "even if you released him he has no power in our world. Everyone knows what he is now, he has no power here."

"No, not political power, _his_ powers. His magic."

It took a few moments for the full implications of his words to sink in. And then her eyes widened. "There's a potion that can take away our powers?"

"As I said, it isn't something we speak about. Most Purebloods would prefer being given to the Dementors than to live their lives powerless…like _Muggles_."

She couldn't help but flinch at the sneer in his voice when he said the word Muggles.

"But…would you do that to him? Maybe he would prefer death!"

"Knowing Lucius, he _would,_ but I am hoping that he will see reason and think about someone other than himself."

"Think about Draco?"

"Basically. Draco needs him alive and coherent, now more than ever. He's on a downward slide since that ridiculous friend of yours took the moral high ground and left him. Now, the only person he will listen to is his father…"

"Harry isn't ridiculous, he did what he thought was right."

"What he thought was right? What does Potter know of right and wrong when it comes to his relationships?"

"About as much as you I'd say. Didn't you leave me because you thought you were doing the right thing?"

"The circumstances are completely different."

"No, they aren't! You…"

"What ever the outcome of these speculations, the result is the same."

"So you would do this, go to all this trouble for the sake of Draco Malfoy?"

Severus shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of just how much she needed to know about his relationship with Lucius Malfoy. But she ended any speculation by smiling gently.

"I read the journal, Severus, Mr. Malfoy was very diligent in recording everything he ever did…including you."

"And so you know, but it still doesn't affect my decisions when it comes to his fate however."

"How could it not? You loved him I think…and I think he loved you too."

"It wasn't a love affair, Hermione." He almost laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "It was a misguided attraction; there was no relationship to speak of."

"But you were friends."

"That is true."

"It must have hurt you to hand him over after the war."

"I know what he is, Hermione and I know what he is capable of."

"But now you would seek to help him."

"If he lets me."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"He thinks that I would be endangering Draco. Apparently the Curator of the Museum wants Draco for some reason of his own. Lucius had Non place a charm on a pet that will keep Draco in the castle."

"And what happens after school?"

"I have no idea."

"Does Draco know?"

"No. Draco is too stubborn. He'd go after the Curator and Lucius obviously thinks that the man will best him. I'm sure that once Weasley is Minister however, he will end this disgusting exhibition and return Lucius to Draco's custody - and we will be free to work out what to do with Lucius then."

"Have you made the potion yet? The one that will release him?"

"I've started it…but there are some ingredients that are either unclear or I just can't find. And there is more to the incantation than the page I have found. The journal is like a puzzle, he wrote anywhere he could find a page."

"I noticed that," she admitted, "but you ask it a question and it shows you where to look."

And he had to admit that he hadn't even thought of that. Something so simple.

"I can help you," she prompted, "I can help decipher the incantation and brew the potion."

"I don't know if I can finish the potion…we need things that are not even available in the realm. Angel oil, feathers and blood. I don't even know where to start looking for them. Regina was supposed to help us get them. She's a Muggle but she can walk between worlds…but of course she turned out to be utterly insane."

It all fell into place. Draco tortured Regina because she knew things that could help his father. She was the one who could get the last of the potions ingredients. By not sleeping with her he had given up his father. Hermione made a note to tell Harry, he had to know; he had to see it from that perspective.

"But you have oil," she said quickly, "down in your store room, you have Angel oil."

At this he looked thoroughly confused. The secret store room had existed for a long time; he had found it quite by accident when searching for a suitable place to put his own personal supplies. He had catalogued what he'd found there once, but that was some 16 years ago and he had well and truly forgotten half of what he'd written down.

"I _can_ help you," she said again.

"We'll wait," he said, "until we get back to Hogwarts. I've got the potion brewing in my chambers. When we get back you can bring the journal to me and we will look at it then. In the meantime, I suggest we try and get some sleep. It's late and you need your rest."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip. "Do you still love me?"

"Of course."

"And you'll let me help you?"

"Tomorrow," he said, "we'll talk about it tomorrow."

********

Arthur Weasley had not visited Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a social reason in a good many years and whilst he had managed to convince himself that this was indeed a social trip, he knew himself well enough that he was there to ensure Albus Dumbledore's support when the Wizengamot voted the following month. Not that he had to ensure Dumbledore's support. It had been Dumbledore who had pushed him to challenge Fudge, but still, it didn't hurt to be sure. In recent times his visits to the castle had been unfortunate affairs. The war, protecting innocent children from Death Eaters who cared little for their ages, his son deciding that life wasn't worth living any more, and bribing the son of his childhood enemy into backing him in his endeavor to have supposed heroes of the war tried for crimes. He had a great fear that Dumbledore would think less of him after the last two.

He had not understood all that had happened with Ron. Now, months later, he still didn't understand it. Angelina was falling deeper into madness inside Azkaban and his youngest son would probably never be what he once one. Ron seemed to have aged a decade since February and somehow he had missed all of the signs. Arthur liked to think that it was because Ron had been at school and he hadn't been there to witness his sons slide. But that wasn't entirely true. Ron had been at home for two weeks over Christmas and everything had apparently been happening then – he had simply been too preoccupied to see it.

His sudden career orientation had cost him dear. Not that Ron ever blamed him. No one else had laid the blame at his door either. They all told him that he was doing the right thing, putting the needs of his world above those of himself or his family. It was a noble sacrifice. But in the face of his dying son he'd had to question that reasoning.

It was all a moot point now however. Ron was at home, safe and sound and with a girl who was fast becoming a part of the family.

But still, something niggled at him. Perhaps his journey to see Dumbledore was not only to ensure support, perhaps it was also to seek reassurance that he was indeed doing the right thing.

Arthur had his own agenda. At the end of the war, with Voldemort finally dead and gone, Fudge had unleashed his own personal army of Aurors to track down those Death Eaters who had escaped the final battle. And there were those whose hatred of their enemy was so great that they flocked to the banner despite their personal distaste for Fudge himself. Alastor Moody was one of those men. He had fought hard; he had fought for the good of their world. It was after the war that he went too far. In what many saw as Fudge's personal agenda to rid their world of many old family lines, no one was spared. Children were torn out of the relative safety of Hogwarts and used as pawns to force their parents confessions – the rate of these same children disappearing or turning up dead was alarming.

Arthur didn't understand it. Why would Fudge, who had always been so outspoken on the supremacy of the Pureblood lineage, seek to destroy them? Theories began to sprout, a popular one being that the Minister was trying to cover his tracks. That perhaps he had been a Death Eater himself during Voldemort's first attacks years before and once he had reached office had sought to distance himself from his past when he had received the Minister-ship. By destroying the old families he was effectively destroying all trace of his own past.

Arthur wasn't sure if he believed this. In his own mind he was sure that Cornelius Fudge wasn't that complex and that it was simply a greedy love of his office that drove him on to what he thought would be a popular move.

But in Arthur's mind, Fudge's motives meant nothing. Nothing could reconcile Arthur to the idea of killing children – no matter how bad the child had been. Ron had come home from school year after year complaining about Draco Malfoy and his thugs Crabbe and Goyle, but Arthur had seen the bodies of those children after they had been tortured and beaten and left somewhere to die and he could never rejoice in their deaths. They had been bullies to be sure, but they did deserve the chance to grow up. No one knew what they could become. The ones responsible must be brought to justice or the war would never ever be really over.

The trials were Arthur's own quest and one he thought might lose him the Minister's role. But it seemed his thinking had support within the Wizangamot. They had all seen the results of Fudge's trials. They had all seen dead children. They had all seen too much death.

And so he put his hat into the ring for the Minister's job and if he was made Minister, he vowed that there would be sweeping reforms.

All of this was on his mind as he sat in the comfortably appointed chambers of Albus Dumbledore. It had always been a lovely place. Less of an office and more like a lounge room. It was a peaceful place and Arthur had always liked it, and although his mind was racing, he felt physically relaxed.

"Is Molly coming?" Minerva asked. She was standing by a cabinet full of good quality crystal and had a number of goblets in her hands.

"No," Arthur said absently, "Molly's at home spying on Ron."

"Spying on Ron?" Minerva laughed, a little incredulous at the thought. "Why on earth would she do that?"

Arthur shook his head with a 'you don't want to know' expression on his face. He did offer up an explanation however. "We have young Pansy staying with us and Molly is convinced that if she leaves them alone for a second they will end up in bed together."

Albus and Minerva exchanged a look but said nothing.

"Of course, I pointed out that they are both of age and they can do whatever they please." Arthur frowned, "I figure we can't exactly stop them from doing it, and I told her as much. Molly; of course, lost her temper and started on about them learning to have more respect for us and that they should be grateful that we let Pansy stay in the first place. And then she berated me by saying that, of course the pair of them have done nothing at all and were probably just enjoying each others company, and we are jumping the gun entirely."

Once again Minerva and Dumbledore exchanged glances and finally Dumbledore chuckled. "I see. Well, Arthur, take that problem and multiply it by several hundred and you have what it's like being the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Arthur had to concede that point. "Of course, Molly won't say anything to Ron at all. She's convinced that if she says anything to him that is less than positive then he's going to go and jump off the roof."

"And how does Ron feel about all of this?" Minerva asked.

Arthur fell silent, unable to admit out loud that he really didn't know. He hadn't been able to speak to Ron above a few token words of encouragement since Valentine's Day. He picked up an ornate paper weight and began to turn it over in his hands as once again he felt himself engulfed in his inadequacies. Perhaps the price of becoming Minister was too high.

"I learnt a long time ago," Dumbledore said, letting him off the hook, "that you can watch them like a hawk, but they will always find a way around you. Leave them alone, and they might surprise you."

"You have far more faith than Molly I'm afraid."

Minerva poured out some good quality Faerie wine and exchanged the paper weight for a glass. She then sat herself down and sank blissfully into a soft chair. She rubbed her hip which had been paining her and then changed the topic entirely. "So, are you still planning to put Fudge's Aurors on trial?"

And so they had brought it up without his help. Arthur steeled his nerves. "Yes," he said carefully. "I've spoken to Pansy and she has agreed to testify against the men who violated her. Draco Malfoy was a little harder to coax, but I think I managed to strike a deal with him."

"Oh?" Minerva looked a little concerned, "You made a deal with Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes, he wanted his father back. I told him I would arrange to have Lucius returned if he testified."

And at this Minerva looked horrified. "Oh Arthur! That's a terrible thing to do!"

Arthur felt his face redden and he placed his glass uncertainly on a side table. "You…you think I made a mistake? That I did the wrong thing?"

"Holding his father hostage until he does what you want? Yes I do! What was the alternative? Leave his father in that dreadful exhibition?"

Arthur sighed and sank into his chair. "Of course not. I've already spoken to that…bizarre Curator and I've told him that the moment I'm made Minister that the exhibition is finished. I plan to have Azkaban overhauled, the Dementors will be dismissed once and for all and conditions will be improved. The Death Eaters who have received the Kiss can be returned to the Prison and cared for there. That was the alternative."

Minerva relaxed a little but she still look disgruntled.

"I would have given his father back regardless," Arthur said, "What harm can he do now? I thought I would use what political clout I could muster to get him to agree. I _need_ him to do this," Arthur said, an air of desperation washing over him. "There are so few victims of the Inquisitors left alive, and he is one of the few that can still walk and talk."

"But would he be considered a credible witness?" Dumbledore asked jovially, "Draco is not entirely meek and mild and there are a good many people out there who think he corrupted Harry somehow."

"Corrupted Harry?" Arthur actually laughed at the idea, "I am fairly certain Harry was corrupted long before Draco Malfoy ever got his hands on him."

"You think so? Didn't you hear about that silly contract?" Minerva asked.

"You can still be a virgin and be on a slide," Arthur said, "I watched Harry and Ron smoking whatever they could get their hands on, and you let them do it."

Dumbledore could hardly argue with the analysis. He had been lenient with Harry towards the end, possibly because he had begun to believe that his little warrior was not going to survive the war. Harry had proved him wrong and Dumbledore could not have been happier about it. He nodded, conceding the truth. "But besides all of that, people look at Draco and they don't see the boy…"

"They see the father not the son," Arthur agreed, "but he is not his father, Dumbledore, and we can't treat him like he is!"

"And I have no inclination to do so, Arthur," Dumbledore scoffed. "I am trying to help you to see that the boy may not be the best witness you could find."

"I have photographs, Albus, I have pictures of what he looked like when they found him…I'll tear the shirt off his back and show them if I have to."

"Well, he won't thank you for that. Are you sure that you aren't trying for a conviction at any cost, Arthur? It was tried before…you're standing up against the results now."

"They killed children, Albus. _Children._ If I have to blackmail Draco Malfoy to get them convicted I will."

"Draco Malfoy doesn't usually respond well to threats," Minerva observed wryly. "What did he say when you put it to him?"

Arthur relaxed a little and allowed himself a smile. "Well…he wasn't what I expected at all."

"He wasn't like his father?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling and a half smile touching his lips.

"Exactly. He's not as self assured as his father. Don't get me wrong, he is self assured, but not the way Lucius was. He's not _vicious_. That surprised me."

"The same couldn't be said a year or so ago," Minerva said, "so let's say that he's _adaptable_. But I would be waiting for the sting in the tail of any deal you made with Draco Malfoy."

"You don't like him?" Arthur asked.

"I never said that!" Minerva protested, "He's my star pupil and with a very small amount of work will probably be the youngest Transfigurations Master in a century. He is in fact very personable and I know that I've developed a great deal of affection for him over the last year…but he is still Lucius Malfoy's son. Don't underestimate him."

"What do you plan to do with the Dementors?" Dumbledore asked, deciding that it might be a good idea to change the subject and bolster the next Minister of Magic up again.

Arthur looked thoroughly relieved at this move. "I will put it to a committee, but I am hoping to send them back to their realm."

"They won't return to the Dark lands willingly," Dumbledore warned, "the feeding here is far too easy for them."

"Fudge should have banished them after the war, but oh no, not Cornelius Fudge. The damn fool welcomes them back to Azkaban with open arms! And what's the first thing he does? He has them Kiss the very Death Eaters they had once been allied with! The fact that they had no problem with doing it should have given him some indication of the kind of creatures they are!

"He does know what kind of creatures they are," Dumbledore said, "but Cornelius wanted our world to go back to the way it was and he tried to do it the only way he knew how. Of course what he didn't realize was that he was destroying the very people that were keeping him in office in the first place. And our world needs to change. Many of the old ways are dead and gone, and it is a new era. We need to learn from our mistakes not repeat them.

Arthur relaxed considerably. Dumbledore was starting to look rosy cheeked from the wine and he was certainly warming to his subject. Arthur felt sure that he could settle back now, and reasonably expect an evening of very wise council.

********


	53. Resolutions Part 2

_Chapter 19 Part 2_

Archibald Semeuse paced the length of his private chamber in turns agitated and elated. His evening had taken an unexpected turn to be sure, and now that he had taken his prize he finally began to wonder if he had done the right thing. His hands, usually so calm and still, fluttered to his mouth and then to the front of his robes and then to his pocket and finally back to his mouth. He stopped his progress and seemed for a moment to hover in place, his body poised as he stared at the body on the bed.

The boy on the bed was unconscious. A product of Semeuse's stupefying charm which by his own admission was perhaps a touch overly strong. Semeuse could only stare. He had brought the boy here; he had held him the whole way as the Portkey bounced them uncomfortably over the countryside. He had lain the boy's silent body on the large bed with its pure white bedding. But now he could not go near. He could do nothing but stare in amazement.

It was a giant step from thinking about taking the boy to actually taking him. He had not been thinking and part of his brain rejoiced for that. Had he thought, had he actually taken a step back, it was possible that he would not have tried something so brazen. He'd taken the young Malfoy of a public street, in full view of the fool who had deemed fit to leave him. And Semeuse was no fool. He had become aware of just who that fool was some months before – and from the look on his face tonight the fool still loved the boy on the bed. The Little Dragon...his Little Dragon.

Oh yes, he was as beautiful as Semeuse remembered. More so now that he was lying there on Semeuse's own bed. His skin was as pale and creamy as the most delicate of rose petals. His lips were so perfectly pink and the eyelashes that splayed across his cheek seemed to Semeuse to be the color of rain.

 _But he had done it. He had taken the boy off the street._

He resumed his pacing. No one would catch him. When morning came they would all be gone. He had purchased a special box to transport Lucius safely, and though it would be a tight squeeze, Semeuse was certain he could get Draco into the box as well. They would both be safe, and they would arrive unharmed. He would have to sedate them both. If Lucius was conscious he could create a fuss and he did not want the box to be upset on the flying carpet.

Everything was ready to go, and by sheer luck he now had everything he could ever want. Everything. The Gods must have seen his plight and offered the Dragon up. Why else would Semeuse stumble upon his path? He had not been searching for the boy. Not tonight anyway.

 _Dear gods the boy was beautiful._

It was a strange moment arriving at the Museum holding the boy. He was not heavy, in fact the boy was remarkably light, something belied by the feel of the slender body under the ill-fitting clothes. Semeuse was gentle as he placed Draco on the bed. The boy was fragile and not to be damaged. Delicate like a flower, to be handled with nothing but reverence would bruise the petals. Semeuse had set the potion that he knew he would need beside the bed and then wondered just how long the boy would sleep. Because it was sleep now. The Stupification charm should have worn off and so the boy was sleeping.

He must have been tired, too many nights spent staring at the darkened ceiling. Either that or he was hiding in sleep.

"But there is no need to hide little one," Semeuse whispered suddenly, "I love you."

But Draco didn't wake. He lay on the bed and slept.

The potion was a simple one, made of Basilisk tears and a few other key ingredients, and it did not paralyze the one who took it so much as incapacitate them. They would not be able to move and yet their limbs would be supple and easily manipulated. Semeuse knew he would have to use it, because when the boy did come out of hiding he would not stay still for long. If he was anything like his father he would fight.

Once again he stopped his pacing and turned to stare at his prize.

Draco was badly dressed. It was as though the boy had stopped caring about his appearance entirely. He looked dirty, even his hair looked greasy and he smelled like sweat. He was wearing filthy jeans and a jumper that was almost falling apart, It wasn't his initial on the front and Semeuse was fairly certain just who "H" stood for. Semeuse could not fathom the younger generations obsession with Muggle clothing. Robes lent such elegance to one's demeanor. Robes were traditional and made a Wizard look as a Wizard was supposed to look. The fact that this boy, despite his breeding and bloodline, wore such Muggle filth astonished Semeuse. He would have to take it up with his Angel, Lucius should have kept his son under tighter rein.

But, he was here now and that was all that mattered. All that came before was nothing now, it was the future that mattered. Draco's future was with his father and Semeuse and he would be loved. He would be dressed in simple clothes, cotton, natural fibers would be best for his skin.

But Lucius would be upset. Of course he would. He had tried so hard to keep his son away and he had not succeeded. Now he would have to share the attention. Semeuse decided that he would have to make a special effort with his beloved Angel, so that the Angel didn't get jealous.

Lucius was still downstairs in his glass case. Semeuse wondered if he knew that Draco was here. Could he sense the closeness of his son? Semeuse normally had him in bed by now. Would he wake up in his case and panic, not understanding why he had been so neglected?

Once again Semeuse's agitated hand fluttered to him mouth. He had to fetch his Angel to him. It would be cold and lonely in that case and the cotton shift he wore was only light. Semeuse worried over his fingers with trembling lips for a moment. Lucius would fret, but perhaps confronting him with his son so suddenly would cause a scene. It would be better to reacquaint them tomorrow, after they had gone from England. For now Lucius would have to stay where he was.

And Semeuse would have to decide whether or not he should resist temptation.

Draco was far too beautiful to resist. If the Gods did not want the boy to be taken, Semeuse reasoned, if they did not want him to be so devastatingly loved, they would never have made him so beautiful. Lucius understood that, and if Draco was indeed his father's son, he would understand that too.

There was no need to fret, and of course the boy would understand being loved so completely.

Semeuse could not hold himself any longer. He went to the bed and ran a hand over the ill fitting jumper. It felt dirty and he was certain that it hadn't been washed in months. The loss of his love had devastated him and driven him to this fate. He loved deep and that could only endear him further to the Curator who loved deep himself. Of course the problem with loving deep is that certain heart breaks could almost destroy the fragility of the soul. And Draco was fragile.

"You don't know how much I will love you little one." Semeuse smiled at the sleeping form and ran his fingers down Draco's long legs. "We will get rid of these dreadful clothes and I will give you the finest cottons. You need natural fibers little one. You need something that will let your beautiful skin breathe."

He lifted Draco's foot and began unlacing the scuffed boot. Semeuse had spent a long time spying on this boy. There had been a time when he had dressed well, when he had walked with a swagger and an arrogant sneer. But Semeuse had never caught sight of that body unclothed. Even when he thought himself alone, the boy had an almost paranoid fear of his own nudity. Semeuse could not understand it. The boy was no doubt as beautiful as his father, so he had nothing to fear. Semeuse removed the boot and tugged the sock off – and then started on the other boot.

It was strange that he would not wake. Not that it was a problem, but Semeuse would so like to see those grey eyes. The potion he had would take care of any fight left in the boy, but he would be awake and able to speak. He would be able to tell Semeuse how grateful he was that Semeuse had saved him from a life of heartbreak and loneliness.

He pulled the other boot and sock off and then admired the pale feet. Then he massaged each foot in turn, rotating them on his ankles and then kissing each perfect toe. He ran his hands up Draco's legs again, over the worn jeans and his fingers lingered on the waist band. He unbuttoned the fastening and gently slid the jeans down Draco's long pale legs. He pulled the jumper over Draco's head, and then he sat back to admire the boy. The T-shirt and underwear were clean at least. He took in the slender planes of Draco's body, perfect in every way, with its contours angular and sharp.

He had a scar on his right knee.

Semeuse frowned. The little dragon was not supposed to have a scar on his right knee. He grabbed the body joint and lifted it. The scar seemed to be coming from the back of his leg and Semeuse felt as though his heart skipped a beat.

He bent the offending appendage back to inspect the underside of Draco's knee.

And then he froze, still holding the leg in the air.

Ruined. He was ruined.

Ruined!

It could not be. Not with this boy, not with this flesh. He could not be so damaged as this! Damaged beyond repair. Semeuse released the leg, as though touching it would perhaps contaminate him somehow. He stared for the longest time as slowly his anger mounted and then he tried to breathe.

Perhaps it was only the leg…he could perhaps stand it if it was only the leg. Like some kind of ancient parchment, a flaw could perhaps not distract from the beauty.

But the Angel should have told him.

Semeuse sucked in a fitful breath and wrenched the cotton shorts down Draco's legs. He felt himself tremble as he sat the boy up to take the T-shirt, refusing to look ahead of time, wanting Draco to be naked before he turned him over. Knowing in his heart that it was _only_ the leg. It had to be only the leg.

And then he turned him over.

It seemed for a long time that Archibald Semeuse forgot what it was to breathe.

He was destroyed. Utterly destroyed. The Angel should have told him! Why had he not? Why had he made such a fuss of protecting this…this…this thing? This travesty? Was it shame? Had he thought that he could not admit to spawning this? Could he not have said that his child was inferior, not worth his name, that the boy should have been destroyed at birth? What had caused it? It had to be a defect in the bloodline. Something from his mother's blood, something dirty. The boy would have to be left behind. Drowned perhaps, like the sickly runt in a litter of Pureblood pups!

Semeuse grabbed a fistful of Draco's blonde hair and wrenched his face up out of the pillows. The boys face contorted and he stirred from his slumber and whimpered.

"You have polluted my bed," Semeuse hissed, "you filthy, inferior little Mudblood."

Draco mumbled, some unintelligible words that ended with a soft moan that sounded like, "Harry."

Oh dear God yes, he had a lover. Semeuse had heard rumor that the Hero of their world was consumed with some kind of madness, but to be such a masochist as to allow himself to rut with this! The Boy-Who-Lived must be utterly insane!

An inferior gem was this...this _thing._

"How could you?" Semeuse asked, wrenching Draco's head back further, twisting this head painfully on his neck. "How could you pollute my bed? How could you have lied to me? Your father! He meant for this to happen…he thinks this is some colossal joke…he knew I'd want you if I thought you were as perfect as he…and he made me believe because he wanted me to bring you here!"

Draco made a strange noise in his throat, registering the pain at being held up by his hair and for a moment his eyes shot open and the muscles under the ruined back flexed. Semeuse grabbed for the phial of potion beside the bed and thumbed it open. He pincered Draco's jaw in his boney fingers and forced Draco's mouth open. He poured the potion down Draco's throat and then held his mouth closed until he swallowed.

Draco coughed violently and suddenly vomited – and Semeuse waited for him to finish and then forced the remainder of the potion down.

The potion was an experimental one. He knew what it was supposed to do, but was unsure of the side effects. It was from a cache of stock that Semeuse had stored many years ago after Voldemort fell the first time. Aurors had raided various places that the Dark Lord had inhabited and the resulting artifacts had either found their way into the Ministries coffers or to the black market. Semeuse had picked up the potion in Knockturn Alley years before and had stored it safely away – and now he had a use for it.

Draco's limbs fell limp, but he was awake now, his eyes were open.

"I had wondered," Semeuse hissed, "why Mr. Potter left you – and now I understand. How could you deem to force yourself on him? You are disgusting!"

Draco mumbled as though he was having trouble speaking.

"He was with someone else and how can you blame him? How can you expect him to want you when he can have any man he wants? Why would he choose something as inferior as you? What perversions did he have that allowed him to tolerate you?"

Semeuse dropped Draco's head and stepped back, suddenly feeling unclean and realizing that his bed was becoming ever filthier with the boy's presence. He unceremoniously dumped Draco onto the floor and desperately began pulling the bedclothes off the bed. He would have them burned; there was no need to take them with him when he took the Angel away from here. He rounded the bed and looked at the boy on the floor.

Draco blinked and swallowed thickly.

But oh, without the scars on show he was as beautiful as he should be. Lying there he looked like something glorious. He was beautiful, he truly was. But that beauty hid the terrible truth. Without thinking Semeuse kicked him in the hip – and then he kicked him again.

Draco whimpered and then cried out; his grey eyes seemed to flicker, his face contorted in confusion.

"I cannot hurt you as much as you have hurt me," Semeuse said and then leaned down and slapped him.

"Harry," Draco whispered thickly.

"He's not coming," Semeuse snapped.

Draco mumbled something more but Semeuse could not decipher it, and then the boys eyes seemed to roll in his head.

Semeuse knelt beside him. Damaged as he was he still completed the set. But what could a lover have seen in him? How could anyone stand it? He placed hesitant fingers on the sharp hill of Draco's hipbone. His flesh was warm but at the Curator's touch gooseflesh crawled along the concavity of his abdomen.

The boy responded to touch very much as his father did, the muscles tightened, his nipples hardened and a shiver ran through him. Semeuse smiled in spite of the bitter disappointment in his heart. He gently traced his finger tips across the sensitive nipples and Draco's grey eyes flickered again.

"You _are_ very beautiful," Semeuse admitted, "you are so stunning." He delved his fingers between Draco's thighs and Draco frowned.

"Can't you speak little one?"

Draco tried to reply but could not make the words come out. He whimpered again.

Semeuse smiled again. It was nice to hear a sound, however small. Lucius could speak, but the sound was in his head and not in the air of the room. Draco had cried out before, he had spoken he had whimpered and it was a wonderful noise. Semeuse wondered how he would sound if he cried out in ecstasy. And his face could move. The boy could frown, his mouth could move, he had an expressiveness to his features that Lucius lacked.

How would he look in ecstasy? Or pain? Or both?

Semeuse unbuttoned his own robes and let them fall away. He mounted Draco roughly, pushing his legs back and relishing the look of panic that swept across the boys face. He leaned forward, resting his weight against Draco's lean thighs.

"Do you want this as much as I do little Dragon? This is your chance to redeem yourself, your chance to make up for your faults."

"Don't…"

"Don't worry little one, you will pleasure me and I can forgive you for betraying me."

"I…don't…"

Semeuse stroked the pale flesh beneath him, taking in the long sinewy limbs, the sharpness of his collarbone and the way the skin covered muscle and bone to create an exquisite chest and ribs and belly. He did not move, but the words he spoke sounded more like sobs than anything else.

He did not think he was worthy and that melted Semeuse's heart.

Oh yes, he was so lovely.

Semeuse pushed hard into Draco's unready body and soared away with ecstasy as Draco found his voice and began to scream.

********  
Ron lay in his bed and stared at the darkened ceiling of his childhood bedroom. The room hadn't changed since he had turned ten. He had thought that perhaps his parents would have done something to it after he'd moved out last summer, but no, the room had not changed. In the light it seemed that a giant orange had exploded and this manifold tattered posters of the Chudley Canons Quidditch Team ran and zoomed and waved about the room.

It was only now that he realized that he hadn't even considered taking any of these things to Grimmauld Place with him when he had moved. In fact, his room at Grimmauld Place was surprisingly adult. While Hermione had allowed her mother to give her the chintzy off-casts of her parents old drawing room to decorate her windows and walls, and Harry had kept a rudimentary sparseness to his own room, family photographs being his only concession to decoration, Ron had begged pieces from his three brothers and borrowed money to create a place just for himself. The result was modern and calm and had shocked his family and friends no end.

And yet now he was back here in his childhood bedroom staring at darkened Quidditch posters and wishing he was in his bed at Grimmauld Place. There was not one speck of orange in that room.

How had he ever managed to sleep here? How had he slept before the sedation draft or Angelina and her drug that he still occasionally craved like a missing limb or the perfect lover?

He blinked and stared at the ceiling.

Was his mother at this very minute prowling the hall outside the room? Was she keeping watch to ensure that he and Pansy stayed well enough apart? The very notion was ridiculous. They had shared a few small kisses, each lovely and wonderful and left him aching for more but Pansy wasn't ready to go further, and in reality neither was he. Sex had not proved wonderful for either of them and they were both content to sit and enjoy the others company and share the occasional kiss and that was all. There was no reason for his mum to prowl the hallway like a prison warden.

But he did like it so when Pansy was near. If he could, he would sleep beside her because he was sure he could sleep if she was there. They had talked about that too and she agreed. Pansy had found that sleep did not come so easily as it once had, especially without the sleeping draft. If they could just lie together and take comfort in each others presence…but he doubted Molly would understand the reasoning behind that idea.

And then a quiet tap on the door made him frown in the dark and reach for the gaslight. "Mum?"

The door opened a little and she stood there in her pink dressing gown looking slight and pale. "No, it's me."

Ron slipped out of the bed and ushered Pansy into the room, checking the hall outside quickly and closing the door.

"I couldn't sleep," she said apologetically, "I think it's the sleeping draft, I'm just so used to it."

"Yeah," Ron whispered, "me too. I can't sleep either, and I was just thinking about you."

"It's not normal," Pansy said a little desperately, "It can't be right having people addicted to a sedation brew to make them sleep."

"It gives me nightmares," Ron said and shuddered, "I hate the stuff."

A creak outside the door made them both freeze for a moment and then relax.

"I'm really sorry about mum," Ron said, "she's a little paranoid. She's convinced we are going to start humping and it's going to ruin our lives or something."

"She's just worried," Pansy said, "and she doesn't know what to do. My uncle was the same. He kept creeping around me and checking on me like I was just going to top myself if he didn't – I probably would have. In the end he couldn't stand it. He has little kids of his own and I scared them, so he had me admitted to the hospital."

"Mum won't do that."

"I know, but it doesn't make it any easier, for anyone."

"I just keep thinking that she wants to say something – I wish she would, I wish she'd just yell at me. Anything is better than this."

Pansy smiled and bowed her head. "I should go. I shouldn't be here, Ron. Your parents have been really good to me and I'm sneaking around behind their backs."

"But we're not doing anything, Pansy!" Ron thumped his hand against his dresser in frustration, "We can't sleep, we just want the company, that's all."

"I want to sleep with you," Pansy said, "I want to make love to you."

Ron's mouth fell open. "N…now?"

Pansy blushed. "I…I don't know…" She folded her arms defensively across herself. "I…I'd like to sleep…"

"We can sleep," Ron said, "we can just sleep now…if you want…"

"But your mum…"

"I know, but I need to sleep. I can't sleep without you." He took her hand and held it lightly in his, and then he led her to the bed and they both slid under the covers.

It felt good. Just lying there with her felt good and right. He had never lain with someone before. Angelina had never slept beside him and he'd had no other lovers. He spooned around Pansy and wrapped a heavy arm over her slender form. Their fingers entwined and he gave her hand a light squeeze.

And together they could sleep.

********  
 _This is a dream,_ Draco thought, _this is just a dream. I am really snug in my bed, where I belong. I'm only dreaming that I'm in a bathroom. I can put a stop to this just by waking up._

On the other hand, if this was a dream would he be able to feel the cold tiled floor beneath his back as vividly as he could feel it now? If it was really a dream would he be aware of the steam coming off the bathwater or the sharp pain between his thighs?

He shivered.

In the lightless void behind his eyelids something flickered and his eyes opened just a little.

 _Wake up!_

Someone was humming. Someone had laid him out on the cold floor and was humming as they ran hot water into the bath.

 _For Gods sake wake up!_

He wanted to move. He wanted to run away and he wanted to wake up and prove to himself that this was just some kind of troublesome dream…but he couldn't do either.

In seconds he was being hoisted up into some-ones arms and he could feel himself being dragged across the floor to the bath. With partially opened eyes he could cast a reassuring glance down the familiar contours of his own body and take some kind of comfort in them.

But there was something wrong. There was blood. There was blood running down his legs.

 _It's a vision,_ he thought, _it's just a weird illusion. I'm not bleeding. I'm not hurting. This pain is just part of the dream. I am really in bed and Miss Kitty is with me and I am having a really fucking shit house dream!_

Relax little Dragon, I have to get you all clean. Look at what a mess you have made of yourself, bleeding everywhere, silly boy. But don't worry, all you need is a nice hot bath and we can start again."

Draco's heart began to thump hard in his chest and his eyes opened wide as the realization finally hit him and he heard another voice join his in joy as he began to scream again.

*******

Harry was certain that his heart was going to explode in his chest. The muscles in his legs sang an agonizing chorus with every pounding step, his lungs felt raw and full. He emerged from the sodden undergrowth of the forest and plunged across the slippery flagstones that heralded the end of wilderness and the start of the castle steps.

It was so rare for anyone to approach the castle from the front. It was something for official visitors or, since Hagrid's death, first years on their first day. Harry could never recall having ever used it, which suddenly struck him as strange considering he had spent more time at this castle over the last eight years than any other place. Unreasonably, Harry wondered if the doors were open.

He slipped on the flagstones and skidded ungraciously into the wall. He felt his knee pop and only the need to keep going stopped him from doubling over and howling in pain. He forced his knee to bend and continued on a painful path towards the castle doors.

They loomed up suddenly, great heavy things that towered a good forty feet up the front of the castle itself and made the hero of the Wizard world feel small and insignificant in comparison. Harry stared up at them for a brief second and wanted to cry. They were closed.

But Harry knew a lot about castles by now. There was a smaller door, less impressive perhaps, hidden within the woodwork of the main ones. In the darkness of the rain Harry began to run his hands over the great iron studs that reinforced the door and kept the world out – and which unfortunately were currently keeping Harry out. Just as he thought his fingers were well and truly numb with cold they would catch the hard edge of another stud and sting – and the rain was not helping him find the tell-tale panel that would release the smaller door and allow him access. He shivered in the rain, his t-shirt was plastered to his skin and the bare flesh of his arms resembled a freshly plucked chicken. He knew that if he could see himself his lips would be turning blue.

"Come on…" Harry fumbled across the wet wood and metal. "Where the fuck is the door?"

Once upon a time he might have a vision to help him, or a friendly ghost might pop up and point out the opening, but tonight not even Peeves wanted to make an appearance. He began bashing his fists uselessly against the doors, tearing skin from his fingers, knuckles and palms.  
 _  
_ _"Where the fuck is the Goddamn door?"_

Why tonight? Why did he have to get locked out tonight? Why did he have to take the supposed shortcut that lead him to a set of locked doors?

Why did he have to agree to kiss Fred Weasley and start all this shit anyway?

His knee throbbed hot and had begun to swell inside the denim of his jeans. He stopped bashing at the door and allowed himself to let his hope flag for a moment as he rubbed his knee and wished to the gods that he had kept his footing when he'd needed to. Then he turned back to the door and ran cold hands over it again. Above the sound of the rain he heard a barely audible 'click' – and the door swung open.

 _Oh thank you, thank you, thank you god…_

Harry charged through the door, skidded across the floor and collided with the banister. He yelped and swore and began his ascent up the stairs, dragging his almost useless leg behind him.

********  
Molly Weasley yawned and checked the clock and found it was later than she had expected. She had hoped that Arthur would have come home by now. He came home later and later these days and on occasion he did not come home at all. Molly found herself missing the man who had been content to sit in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and earn a pittance. Arthur had been talking about leaving The Burrow altogether. The Ministry had offered him an apartment in London and he reasoned that now that their children had left home, the apartment was big enough for them. She had reasoned that they had Ron and Pansy to care for.

Arthur had told her that he expected Ron would leave and go to Grimmauld Place. It was a ridiculous notion. Ron was sick, he couldn't take care of himself. And what about Pansy? If Ron left he could hardly take her with him. An apartment in London would hardly give them enough room to swing a Garden Gnome, and like many Witches, Molly preferred to stay away from the cities. As much as she appreciated Muggles, she had no desire to live side by side with them.

And deep inside there was a strange sense of panic at the idea of leaving this house. She had borne all of her children here, and she felt close to them here, all of them.

Arthur had not contacted her to say how late he would be, but that was nothing unusual these days. He was busy now that he was working towards being the Minister of Magic and she should expect late nights – all the more reason to move to London he reasoned. Molly sat her knitting aside and decided to go to bed, as there was no point waiting up for him. She would check on Ron and Pansy and make sure they were alright and then perhaps she might be able to sleep herself. She had been tempted recently to try the sedating draft sent home by St Mungo's, but so far she had resisted temptation.

They had given Pansy Percy's old bedroom. There was nothing of Percy in there now, as he had taken everything to London with him when he had moved there – in the time before he had died. Nothing had been returned to them and she had not gone looking for his things. They had reconciled before his death, but she did not want to see his things here and be constantly reminded of the loss. Pansy had few possessions but what she did own was placed neatly about the room. She received a great many gifts from Draco Malfoy that arrived by owl each week. Trinket boxes, ribbons for her hair, dresses and robes and despite Arthur saying that it wasn't necessary, a hundred galleons a week appeared in their Gingotts vault. Arthur refused to touch it, pointing out that it wasn't their money and that he had told the young Malfoy that they didn't need money to keep Pansy. Interestingly enough, Molly she realized that the weekly allowance was more than Arthur used to earn in a month.

Molly opened the door just a little to check on the girl, expecting to see her asleep on her side as she had been in the past. But the bed was empty and Pansy was not in the room at all.

Molly swallowed into a dry throat and felt her heart begin to beat faster in her breast. For a moment she hoped the girl was in the toilet, but she knew better than to think that. She turned and hurried up the stairs to the top of the house and the door that would open to Ron's room.

It had been the one rigid stipulation of Pansy staying at The Burrow. When Ron had first asked they had discussed it and as a mark of respect they had said that they must have separate rooms. They would not be together. Ron had laughed as though the idea of them being together was absurd. They had trusted him.

And yet they shouldn't have trusted either of them because she swung the door open and there they were.

"Ronald Weasley!"

Ron awoke with a start and scrambled out of the bed. The gaslight was still lit and burning brightly. Pansy stirred, realized that they had been caught and gasped.

"Get out of that bed, Pansy, and get dressed."

Pansy quickly climbed from the bed but did not need to dress, she was still wearing her pajamas and dressing gown.

"Mum," Ron said quickly, "it's not what you think – we were just sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Molly stared at them both. They were both dressed, but that meant little, because they could have dressed after. "I'm sure you were sleeping Ron, and I'm sure all of the excitement wore you both out."

"Mrs. Weasley, it's true. We were just sleeping. We can't sleep – it's easier if we're together."

"Be quiet Pansy," Molly warned and Pansy fell silent and bowed her head. "Is this what you've been doing every night? Sneaking around behind our back? Disrespecting us?"

Ron looked at Pansy and was sure for a moment that she was crying. He stared at his mother and was suddenly angry. She had finally snapped out of being the strangely cheerful nursemaid role and had started on him in much the same way she usually would if he had done something wrong. But he had done nothing wrong. Neither of them had. "We haven't been disrespectful to anyone, Mum, you've got the wrong idea! Nothing happened, we couldn't sleep, that's all!"

"If you can't sleep I will get you something stronger from St Mungo's," Molly cried.

"I didn't take the potion," Ron said, I _won't_ take it again."

"Well, you don't have a choice Ronald. The healers prescribed it and you _will_ take it."

"No, I _won't_ ," Ron said forcefully, "I won't take it. It makes me dream the most horrific dreams and I don't want them – they aren't worth it!"

"It makes you dream?" Molly asked, "how terrible for you Ronald. Do you know what I dream about? I dream that I get up to find you lying dead in your bed with your arms cut to ribbons, that's what I dream!"

"I'm not going to do that!"

"So you say, but I don't _know_ it! You said you wouldn't have sex with Pansy but yet here we are."

"We didn't have sex! And even if we did, what's the harm in it? I'm nineteen years old mum, and I'm not a child!"

"Then why do you act like one?" Molly asked, the flood gates finally opening, "you can't deal with the choices you made and so you cut yourself up! There's more Ron, would you like me to make a list? You put us through hell!"

 _"And you put me through hell!_ " Ron's hands balled into fists by his side and he calmed himself. "I know I fucked up, but I won't spend the rest of my life apologizing for it!"

"But you haven't apologized for anything! You hid in your room and you cut yourself up and we were forced to forgive you!"

"THEN DON'T FORGIVE ME! HATE ME! DESPISE ME! BUT STOP TREATING ME LIKE I'M A BABY!"

Molly took a step back and looked as though she would cry. She certainly felt as though she would. "I never hated you Ron, I never could hate you. I treat you like a child because you're my child and I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. I go to bed every night and I'm terrified of what I'll find in the morning."

Ron sank to the edge of his bed and his face fell forward into his hands. When he finally lifted his eyes to his mother again she was wiping away silent tears. Pansy was standing motionless by the dresser, her dressing gown pulled tight around her body. "We can't stay here," Ron said. "Mum, we can't stay here."

Molly paled. _"What?_ What do you mean you can't stay here?"

"It's driving both of us – you and I – mad. I don't want to spend every day pretending that everything is alright between us when it just _isn't._ I don't want to fight with you every day, but I don't want you to have to force yourself to smile at me either…and I don't want Pansy stuck here in the middle of it."

Molly looked at Pansy and shook her head. "Don't be so silly Ron, I don't force myself to smile at you. Of course you don't have to leave. I'd prefer knowing that you were here and safe!"

"Mum, I'll be safe at Grimmauld Place!"

"London? You want to go to London?"

"You knew all along that I would live there. I moved there last summer!"

"Yes, before this mess. You can't expect to go back there now."

Ron's eyes widened and he gaped a little like a fish. "Mum, I'm not going to stay here forever, I never was!"

"And Pansy? Do you think you can drag her off to London as well?" Molly rounded on him, towering over him as he sat on his bed. "Arthur and I accepted care of her. We signed an agreement, so you can't take her with you to London."

"No one needs to know," Ron said, calming himself outwardly at least. He was not going to leave Pansy behind. "We can just go, the house is all set up – you know it is, you helped get it that way. We'll be fine there, and you can come and check if you want."

And all at once Molly seemed to calm. "When do you want to go?" she asked and she sounded defeated.

"We can go tonight if you want us to."

"No…don't be silly. Wait until tomorrow. I'm sure your father will want to speak to you."

"Alright." Ron looked at her pleadingly, "it's for the best mum, you can see that, can't you?"

Molly turned away from him and went to the door. "Whatever you say Ron," she told him, "you can do whatever you want."

Harry could hear laughter. Dumbledore had company. Not that Dumbledore having company mattered much to Harry, because he would have stormed in on a meeting with Merlin himself at that moment. Harry threw himself into the office, dragging his leg with its popped knee behind him.

Three sets of eyes turned to stare at him, confused at the sudden intrusion. And then Professor McGonagall was up and hurrying over to Harry, casting a charm to dry and warm him as she went.

"No…" He almost pushed her away as she made to inspect the cause of his injured leg. "Draco…someone took him…"

Minerva urged Harry down to the floor, knowing full well that he was speaking to Dumbledore when it came to Draco, and knowing that Dumbledore would respond accordingly. She quickly decided her best action would be to try and work out what had happened to cause his to be dragging his leg behind him.

"Someone took Draco?" Arthur asked, "How could someone just take him?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Harry suddenly shouted, "HOW DO YOU THINK HE FUCKING TOOK HIM?"

"Harry!" Minerva snapped, "There is no need to shout, we are trying to help you!"

"WELL WHAT GOOD IS ASKING STUPID FUCKING QUESTIONS?"

Minerva pursed her lips and said nothing. She had hoped that he'd calmed down from the obnoxious little shit he had become during the war, and indeed he had been so promising during the year. She had genuine affection for the boy, but here he was, yelling at everyone around him as though they were nothing. _He is stressed,_ she thought with as much patience as she could muster. It had become her personal mantra over the past two years, particularly when she felt like hexing him first and asking questions later.

Dumbledore saw the glazed look come over Minerva's eyes and hastened over to insinuate himself between the two. "What happened Harry?" he said calmly, "how did it happen?"

"We…" Harry's breath hitched as Minerva gave his knee a satisfying prod. "I went to Hogsmeade with Fred…" He cast a hasty look at Arthur. "There is a club there…Fred wanted me to go…and I asked Draco to come and he said no and then he just turned up and I…oh God this is my fault…"

"What? What's your fault?"

"I was…" Harry looked desperate.

"Good Lord, don't tell me you were having sex with Fred Weasley in a night club!" Minerva interjected, her voice shrill.

"No! Of course not! What do you think I am?"

"Well you tell…"

"Keep going Harry." Dumbledore pushed Minerva back.

"Fred _kissed_ me and Draco saw and he got the wrong idea…"

"And why were you kissing Fred?" Minerva asked.

"It meant nothing. He wouldn't let me leave if I didn't…"

"And what? Did he do a Leg Locker curse on you?" Minerva demanded, "Was there some terrible reason why you couldn't leave unless he kissed you?"

"And Draco saw you," Dumbledore prompted.

"He saw us… and ran off. I went after him," and he thought it wise for the moment not to mention his delay in following lest McGonagall start at him again, "but when I got outside there was a man with him. He had hold of Draco and when I got there he…Apparated…with Draco."

"So Draco went willingly?" Arthur asked.

"NO!" If Harry had been standing he would have stamped him foot like a child who wasn't getting its point across. "He _took_ Draco, and he Apparated with him. He Stupefied Draco and took him!"

"It must've been a Portkey," Arthur said to Dumbledore, "Apparating with someone else is hard enough, but someone who has been Stupefied…"

"Who did you tell about Draco agreeing to testify?" Dumbledore asked, "Anyone who would be loyal to the Aurors involved?"

"No, Kingsley knows about it, Remus, Tonks. They wouldn't have told anyone." Arthur turned to Harry. "Did you recognize this person? Was he at all familiar?"

Harry shook his head miserably.

"Fudge could have arranged it," Arthur said wildly. "One last effort to get back at me. He knows there are few enough victims left…" his mind whirred, "Oh Merlin, I have to contact Molly, and make sure that Pansy is safe."

Dumbledore looked troubled, because he didn't think Fudge so vindictive as to resort to kidnapping. "No, I don't think that is it. Harry, you said that Draco wasn't going to go in to Hogsmeade with you?"

"No, he was studying. He said he didn't want to go and I told him I'd come back early."

"So, he went on the spur of the moment," Dumbledore said. "This kidnapping can't have been planned. It was opportunistic. Draco was snatched him because he was there."

"So...some freak just took him for no reason?" Harry asked, panic rising once again inside him.

"No, I didn't say that. I don't know why this person has taken Draco, only that he has. What did the man look like Harry?"

"Tall," Harry frowned, the man had kept his hood on. "He was old I think, with a moustache – a thin one…I didn't get a great look at him."

"They must have known who he was," Minerva said, jabbing at Harry's knee with her wand. "Draco Malfoy is recognizable enough. And they can't have any fear of Harry, taking him out from under his nose like that."

Harry yanked his knee away from Minerva and scrambled to his feet. " Great, fine, they aren't scared of me, but that is not helping me FIND DRACO! I NEED YOU TO STOP TALKING AND HELP ME FIND DRACO!"

"There is no point running off injured Harry," Dumbledore said, placing a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder and forcing him to still. "We don't know who has taken Draco or where they have taken him to, and until we learn these things there is no point running around and blindly searching."

"Snape," Harry said firmly.

"Severus wouldn't have taken Draco," Minerva scowled.

"I didn't fucking say that. He found Krum that time after he hurt Hermione. Hermione said he had a thing that helped him find people, it's like a compass."

"It isn't a compass Harry, it is a potion made from Mercury that has a locator spell inside it. It is very hard to come by."

"But he has it," Harry said a little feverishly, "It would be in his room wouldn't it?"

"Possibly," Dumbledore said, "or he could have it with him, or it could be at the Fenn. We can't just start tearing up Professor Snape's rooms looking for something that may or may not be there."

"We should get Severus," Minerva said, "Harry is right. Severus has…ways…of finding people. He will find Draco. I'm more concerned about what he will do to the man who has taken him."

Harry was less concerned about what Snape would do to the bastard and more concerned that he wouldn't torture him first. "He's in London." Harry gnawed on his thumb nail, "They aren't due back until tomorrow."

"They are at Grimmauld Place," Minerva said. "We can go and get him."

"Good," Dumbledore said, "Minerva, you go and get Severus. Harry, you go to the hospital wing and see Madam Pomfrey."

"No way!" Harry cried incredulously, "she'll (he jerked his thumb at Minerva) go and get Snape and then he'll take off. If he's going, I'm going!"

Minerva had the glazed look again as she kept the mantra going, flexing her knuckles unconsciously on her wand. Dumbledore rubbed her arm gently. "Use the portrait hole and bring him back," he told her.

"I won't be long," she said, but she did not attempt a reassuring smile at Harry who would not have noticed anyway.

"Don't bring Hermione back through the Portrait," Dumbledore said tightly, "I will send a carriage for her."

"Albus…" Minerva looked sideways at Arthur, "How long are you going to punish them?"

"I am not punishing anyone," Dumbledore replied in that same tight voice. "Passing through that portal is a form of trans-dimensional travel…it isn't good for her…for their…the…"

"Oh." Minerva looked sideways at Arthur again.

"Am I missing something?" Arthur asked.

"Well…no…" Minerva flushed heavily.

"HERMIONE IS PREGNANT, OK? SHE FUCKED SNAPE AND NOW THEY ARE HAVING A BABY, NOW CAN YOU PLEASE HURRY THE FUCK UP AND GET HIM SO THAT HE CAN COME BACK AND WE CAN FIND DRACO?"

"I'm going, Harry!" Minerva snapped and had to physically restrain her hand from violently slapping him across the face. She was no fool, she knew that the situation was serious and she didn't need Harry Potter yelling at her and shoving her towards Phineas Nigellus' portrait.

Once again Dumbledore was gently rubbing her arm. "Calm down," he whispered, "he's upset."

"I don't care," Minerva hissed, "I told you once before, I don't care if he's going to die tomorrow, he can still treat me with respect." She didn't wait for a reply though, as she swung the portrait open and stepped through the hole, slamming the painting behind her.

Harry stared defiantly after her, not regretting for a moment what he had said. There was no time to waste and if she wanted to be angry at him that was fine. As long as Draco was safe she could hate him for the rest of his life.

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said quietly.

"No," Harry replied stubbornly, "I'm going with Snape."

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry."

" _Whatever,_ I'm going with him."

"Then at least sit down," Dumbledore's voice was becoming strained, "so that we can have Madam Pomfrey come to you."

Harry slumped down into Minerva's vacated chair. It was his fault. It was all his fault. He had to go out. He kissed Fred. McGonagall was right, Fred had not put a bind on him, and he could have walked away at any time.

Dumbledore had gone to the fireplace and had obviously summoned Madam Pomfrey. When he returned, he sat down heavily in the chair opposite Harry and began to prompt him. "Let's start again, shall we? You went after him and there was a man there, tall, old perhaps. Did he say anything, can you remember?"

"No, he didn't say anything. He smiled at me and they just disappeared…Draco called my name, he was scared…" Harry sank lower into the chair. "It's my fault. I just had to go with Fred, I couldn't just stay here. I knew I should, and I wanted to talk to Draco, but no, not me. I had to have both. I should have gone after him straight away…why am I so fucked?"

"You're not fucked," Dumbledore bit out a little more harshly than he intended, "just calm down."

Dumbledore knew Harry well by now. He had spent so long building him up, knowing what fate had in store and knowing that if he was to survive the war he was going to need to be strong and powerful and able to see his way through anything. It was true that perhaps Dumbledore had built the boy's ego up a little too much, but at the end of the war that ego had crumbled and as strong as he was, Harry Potter was capable of some fairly spectacular depressions. It would be useless for him to crash now. But Harry had begun to rock back and forth and Dumbledore recognized the signs only too clearly. The boy would either explode into a fit of temper or break down completely.

"Where the fuck are they? You should never have sent McGonagall, she's a fucking cripple! I should have gone my fucking self!"

"Harry!"

"Where are they? That mad bastard could have done anything to Draco by now!"

"Calm down! Minerva will be back soon and Severus will be with her, but I can assure you that if you don't stop with this nonsense, neither of them are going to be inclined to help you."

"WELL FUCK THEM! I'LL GO ALONE!"

Dumbledore looked away and ground his teeth. He too had his mantras for dealing with troublesome students and he had once vowed that nothing would shake his calm with them – but Harry was pushing the point. "If you do not calm down, right now, Harry, I shall put you in a full body bind and have you delivered to the hospital wing for the remainder of the night. Understood?"

Harry swallowed hard and was silent.

*******

Blood.

Oh Gods, blood. Get it off, quickly, get off every sticky incriminating drop of it. Wash it all off. All of it.

Lucius woke up startled and realized he was in the bathroom. He must be sleepwalking again. Narcissa teased him mercilessly about it. He was naked, he could see his clothes scattered around the floor and he was standing in front of the basin savagely scrubbing himself with a wet washcloth. One of those thick fluffy ones that Narcissa favored, the ones that felt oddly heavy when they were soaked.

He looked at his reflection and was briefly paralyzed by what he saw.

His face was smeared with blood and beneath the blood his body was battered and bruised. His arms were spattered with blood, and his bare chest seemed thick with it.

He knew instantly that this was not his blood. For all of being battered and bruised he did not feel the distinctive sting of being cut. He had not been slashed or stabbed, and indeed he was certain that he was the one who had been doing all of that. But, he considered to himself, it was such a terribly strange thing, because he could never recall having ever slashed or stabbed anyone in his life. There was no need to do such barbaric things, because above all else he was a Wizard, and he could just use his wand to destroy everyone around him.

Except of course that he was rather adept at using a staff and they had the habit of reducing flesh and bone to bloodied gore and meat. Perhaps that was the cause of all the blood...perhaps he'd been out using his staff on some poor unfortunate soul.

But no, he knew he had slashed and stabbed. He just knew it.

He stared at his own gruesome reflection, fascinated at how the blood that stained his lips seemed so stark against his pale skin. He wondered how it was possible that he still looked like an Angel even though he was sheathed in gore.

 _Because you are an Angel._

Lucius frowned.

Narcissa was going to be pissed off that he had made such a foul mess of the bathroom. If she saw it she would scream blue murder. Or bloody blue murder. But who had he killed so violently? The war was over wasn't it?

Lucius let his gaze follow the curve of his neck, down his gore covered shoulders and across the hardness of his chest. His body was looking good. Muscular and fit. He felt strong, supple and healthy.

 _But you're not healthy are you?_

He frowned again.

Refusing to draw his eyes away from the bloody reflection, Lucius turned on the taps so that he could clean himself up. He needed to rid himself of all this blood. Clean himself, mop up the bathroom and crawl into bed with his wife.

Narcissa. She was probably asleep, because if he had been sleep walking and she was awake she would have done something to stop him from wandering around. _Wandering around killing things in his sleep._

He finally drew his eyes from the mirror and plunged his hands into the water to clean them.

Except they were clean. Perfectly clean. He looked down the length of his naked body and found himself flawless. Nothing marked that creamy flesh. He was pale and perfect and clean.

He looked back to the mirror and his bloodied reflection stared back.

Perhaps it was, he wondered, like the picture of Dorian Gray. All of his sins had decided to gather in his bathroom mirror – and he in turn would stay forever young and innocent of appearance while the blood of those he'd killed or wronged would simply cover him in the mirror. It was marvelously convenient. He certainly wasn't squeamish about such things and if it meant that he could stay young and beautiful forevermore, then all the better.

It was actually rather wonderful.

Except that it wasn't wonderful. _He_ wasn't wonderful. And he certainly wasn't forever young. Something was terribly wrong here.

He felt strange on his feet, as though he was not supposed to be upright. He hadn't been standing for a very long time. _But why?_

He hadn't been sleepwalking. He was not awake. He was still asleep and this was a dream. The bathroom was a dream. He wasn't at home and his beautiful Narcissa was dead.

 _Daddy_

Draco?

Lucius looked at his reflection and found himself as he truly was. A frail shadow of what he had been. Clean, his hair shimmering, a thin stream of drool running down his chin which was red from the constant contact with saliva. His eyes looked as though they were sinking into his face. His face looked skull-like. He was not beautiful any more, and he could only wonder what the Curator saw in him.

 _Daddy_

Draco? Where was he? Lucius could hear him, it was so clear, speaking right into his brain.

 _It's still the dream. Draco is at school where he belongs, he's safe._ But why could he hear him? Draco sounded so close and he was calling out. There was panic in his voice…desperation.

He couldn't be here, he just couldn't. He was at Hogwarts, and the charmed kitten would keep him there.

Lucius frowned and his eyes opened. It was late. The museum was dark and empty, the lights in each of the cases had been extinguished. The Sais room was deserted.

And Lucius was still in his case.

Any other night he would have rejoiced. An evening being left alone was a rare commodity. He had spent his day staring at familiar faces who in turn stared back. People he knew. Adults who looked repulsed and yet came back again and again just to stare. He did not know why they bothered. Why did they come back day after day? And then there were the children. Little monsters who pressed their faces against the glass and smeared Merlin only knew what across it.

But sitting here enduring the morbid curiosity of his kind was preferable to lying prone beneath the Curator while the old man made his special brand of love to Lucius' ever failing body.

But not tonight. He was used to the routine of his days and nights. He spent time in his case but rarely these days – he was always – always – out by six. There was a clock at the centre of the museum. It was striking midnight.

So why was he still in his case? Either Semeuse had lost interest in him; something he seriously doubted would happen, because he could be dead and he had no doubt that Semeuse would bugger his corpse. The only rational answer was that he had something else to occupy his time now. Perhaps Semeuse was still in Hogsmeade, or perhaps he had shown enough galleons and Antwon had offered a tour of his private collection?

 _Daddy._

Perhaps Lucius was on the final descent and now hearing voices?

He closed his eyes again and tried to centre himself. Panic was making it hard to still his soul.

"Draco…" He breathed out a long sigh and reached, trying to find any trace of his son's aura and hoping that he had to travel all the way to Scotland to do that.

But no, Draco was not in Scotland. Draco was far closer than that. Much closer than that. Lucius felt his inner eye turn and focus as the edges of Draco's aura came into view.

Draco's aura was fluid, like water. Shimmering blue, occasionally stormy, but always blue. But the edges of this aura was not blue, it was the darkest grey, verging to black. And then suddenly all cleared and Lucius felt his ears begin to ache as his head was suddenly filled with the sound of screaming. Screaming that he had heard before and had hoped never to hear again.

And then he could see, as though a fog had cleared and he emerged into the clarity of the day. But this light was horrifying. This light was more hideous than anything he had ever dared to contemplate. His son was there. His baby was there, in that room. His baby was barely conscious and he looked wet, as though he had just been bathed. And worse, Lucius watched from what seemed so very far away as Archibald Semeuse, so foul and decrepit, raped his son.

His blood felt hot. He could feel it coursing through him, boiling in his veins. He retreated, not wanting to see any more. He flexed one fist and then the other. Curled his fingers and then his toes. He rotated ankles painfully in unused sockets. Somewhere in the darkness he could hear the sound of breaking glass as display cases shattered.

And Lucius Malfoy opened his eyes and growled.

********


	54. Resolutions Part 3

_Chapter 19 – Part 3_

Minerva stepped through the portrait hole and into what she decided had to be a guest bedroom. It was sparse, furnished for function rather than comfort. She had been told that Harry Ron and Hermione had all moved into the house over the past summer, and she figured they would have decorated their own rooms and this room was far too impersonal. Albus had told her that Harry and Ron had once shared this room. He'd wanted Harry to be in there specifically at the time, because the portrait hole was there. But Harry had evidently decided to move himself elsewhere in the house. Either that or he lived a Spartan existence.

Despite the room being empty she whispered as she called for light.

The hallway was as dark and as miserable as it had always been, even as she lit the wall sconces she could only wonder at how the Black's had lived in such a miserable place. She wondered just how Harry planned to live here.

On her visits to this house, Minerva had only ever been to the main hallway and the kitchen. She knew nothing of the upper floors and she had no idea where Hermione might be sleeping, and even less about where she would house a guest. Obviously not in the room she had just come from. The Blacks were a traditional Pureblood family, and from what she knew of traditional Pureblood families they kept all the family bedrooms together. If Harry, Ron and Hermione followed that pattern, Minerva reasoned that she should be able to find Hermione.

Minerva only hoped that she didn't scare the girl half to death when she woke her up in the middle of the night.

She continued down the hall and found each room empty, then finally she reached the stairs and decided that she would have to go up to the next level. She did so with a little reluctance. She had heard stories about this house and its dislike of anyone that didn't believe in the Black Family philosophy. Still, the Order had resided here comfortably enough and so she mounted the stairs and climbed them, ignoring the stiffness in her legs and hips.

Once on the next level she saw Hermione's room immediately. It was slightly ajar, but it was the ridiculous door plaque that gave it away. Winnie the Pooh – dreadful name – stuck halfway out of his hole, his mouth covered in honey and a colorful rendering of "Hermione" gaily danced across the sky.

Minerva hated Winnie the Pooh. She could not tolerate the saccharine sweetness of the dreadful characters and the bizarre fascination both Muggles and Witches seemed to have for the character served only to bemuse her. She shook her head at the sign and couldn't help but take a step back. Hermione Granger was almost twenty years old for goodness sake!

But there was no time to scoff at door plaques. Minerva knocked on the door and hissed Hermione's name in an urgent whisper.

From inside Minerva heard a rustling of bedclothes and a muffled groan of someone trying to wake up.

"Hermione?" Minerva cleared her throat and spoke a little more clearly, "Hermione, it's Minerva…"

"Minerva?"

That was _not_ Hermione. Minerva's eyes widened and she shuffled from her spot beside the door.

"Minerva?" The voice was more insistent now.

"Severus…It's actually you I need."

More rustling and Severus suddenly appeared wrapped in a pastel pink sheet. "What's wrong?"

"It's Draco, "Minerva said seriously, "Harry has just come back from Hogsmeade, and he says that someone has snatched Draco off the street."

"Snatched?" Severus asked confused, "what do you mean by _'snatched'_?"

"Harry says it was a man, an older man…"

 _"And Potter didn't stop him?"_

"Calm down! You're as bad as Harry!"

"Severus? What's going on?"

Severus turned back into the darkened room. "It's nothing, go back to sleep," he snapped.

And of course Hermione was suddenly out of bed too and appeared at the door.

"Harry didn't have a chance to stop him," Minerva said, looking at both of them, "he said that he got out just in time to see them go. If he had come out a moment later he probably wouldn't have known that Draco was missing until morning."

She stopped as Severus' normally sallow flesh went chalky and he seemed to shake with a rage that he was fighting to keep in check. His lip curled back, baring uneven teeth and for the first time in a long time Minerva could honestly say that he looked fearsome. She swallowed hard.

"Severus, Albus wants you back at the castle, because we have to find out who…"

"I know who took him." Severus turned away from them both and all but screamed "Lumos", making the room suddenly and unbearably bright.

Minerva edged into the room in time to see Severus pulling a faded green under-shirt over his skinny frame. For some reason she wanted to ask him just how old that under-shirt was, but found she did not need to when he turned around and found it read Slytherin: 1975 Quidditch Cup Champions. But just as there was no time to scoff at door plaques, now was not the time to torment him about his choice of underwear. She swallowed any comment as he pulled on black corduroy trousers and a woolen jumper. When she did find words they were rudimentary and to the point. "How do you know who took him?"

"It doesn't matter how I know," he snapped, shoving his wand up his sleeve. "I know who took him, and so I will go and bring him back. How long has he been gone?"

"I don't know. I don't know how long it took Harry to get back to the castle. Half an hour, an hour perhaps?"

Severus swore bluntly. His initial instinct was to go straight to the Museum, but if Archibald Semeuse had had Draco for an hour…God only knew what the man had done. If Draco had panicked, Severus was going to need a ready supply of Navitas to get him through it. But going back to Hogwarts was going to cost him precious time. Could he risk not getting the Navitas? Could he hope that Draco's body would hold out against whatever punishment Semeuse would visit upon him? If he had to rely on Draco's willpower alone, he knew Draco would get through it – but his body was a weak shell, and Draco had been through a great deal in the last year. Too much perhaps.

He was going to need Navitas.

"I have to go back to the school," he said quickly, "I was going to organize for a carriage to take Hermione back in the morning…"

"Albus is sending a carriage for her now. He says for you to go back through the Portrait hole. He said Hermione couldn't, it would harm the baby."

"Can you make sure she gets back?"

"Severus, I am perfectly capable of getting myself ba…"

He kissed Hermione quickly. "Go with Minerva." He turned away and patted Minerva's arm absently and without a word he hurried out the door.

*********  
"That went…" Pansy stopped and looked at Ron, "that went…well," she said.

"I think I pissed her off," Ron said, but he sounded relieved.

"Yep, I think you did." She sat on the bed beside him and tucked a few stray hairs behind his ear. "Are you happy?"

"No…well, I'm not happy I pissed her off…but it needed to be said." He hardened his jaw. "She needed to get things out of her system as much as I did."

Pansy nodded and raised her eyebrows as she conceded that point. "So, we're leaving tomorrow?"

"Looks like it?"

"And we're going to London?"

"Yeah," He gave her a hasty smile, "don't worry, it's not going to be like St Mungo's. The house is great, it's really big and…" _really dark and depressing actually,_ "it's Harry's house. He inherited it from his Godfather and it's right in London and we can go everywhere…"

"Ron," Pansy hesitated, "we have no money. I mean, I've got nothing and, well…I don't think you have anything either. I'm pretty dismal at Household Charms and I can't cook in the Muggle way either. How are we supposed to live?"

Ron stared at her, and it was obvious that he hadn't thought that far ahead. He shrugged and felt a helpless smile spread across his face. "I could get a job," he said, "and I'm not so bad at Charms. I'm sure if I had the book I could learn all the Household Charms in a flash."

Pansy shrugged and smiled. "I could probably learn them, and I was actually pretty good at Charms. And besides, I could get a job too."

"But you won't need too, I'll get a job and I'll look after you. You don't need to worry."

Pansy frowned. "I'm not worried…why would I be worried? I can work, Ron. I don't need you to look after me." But even as she said it she knew she was lying. She was damaged, inside and out and while she was learning to fall in love with Ron, strangers terrified her still.

"Look, Harry has a kitty at the house, it has about a thousand Galleons in it…"

"A _thousand Galleons_?" Pansy almost laughed at the very idea, "that's more than some people have in their Gringotts vault!"

"I know, but Harry is obsessed with never being caught short. He has a terror of starving to death…something about his aunt and uncle not feeding him."

"You know, I've never actually had a conversation with him."

"He can be pretty intense," Ron said.

"Why doesn't he love Draco?"

"He does," Ron said, "I have no idea why, but he does. The problem with Harry is that he is _really_ moral and he sets his morals in his head and he can adjust them if he needs to accommodate things that he does, but he can't for anyone else. He can't understand some things that Draco did, but he still loves him."

"Does it bother you?"

Ron sighed heavily. "It did. It really did. I kept saying that Harry should have told me, because he hid it from me for months and I kept telling myself that if he'd told me I would have accepted it. I can see now why he didn't tell me, and I know now that there was no way I would have accepted it then if he had told me."

"But now?"

"Well, I guess there's something about going to hell that makes you see clearly."

"I thought you guys were such arseholes," Pansy laughed, "Gods how I hated you."

"The feeling was mutual," Ron grinned.

"I know, you used to call me Pug faced Parkinson."

"I was a fucking twit."

"I thought you were fucking Hermione Granger, and I couldn't understand why."

"I thought you were fucking Malfoy."

"Oh God I wanted to." Pansy rolled her eyes dreamily, "I fantasized about it like you wouldn't believe."

"And did you?"

"No." She grinned, "I didn't. He wasn't interested in me and he said he wouldn't have sex with his friends. He didn't believe in relationships back then."

"So, he was a bit of a slut then?" Ron chuckled.

"I guess he was. He was pretty discreet though. He never bragged about anyone."

"And what about you? Any conquests I should know about?"

Pansy froze and Ron realized his mistake. She pulled away from him and slid up the bed, pulling the covers with her.

"I'm sorry, Pansy, I'm so sorry."

"Maybe we should get some more sleep," she said quietly, burying her face into the pillow.

"I'm sorry…I didn't think…"

"It's alright, it's not your fault."

"I shouldn't have said anything. I should have thought before I said anything…"

No, you weren't to know," she said quietly, "let's just get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

He slipped in behind her and wrapped his arm around her again. "I'm going to take care of you," he whispered, "even if you don't want me to, I will."

"I want you to," she answered softly, "just promise me you'll never leave."

*********

Snape burst through the portrait hole so fast he almost tore the canvas and elicited a sharp cry of protest from Phineas Nigellus who disliked all the activity during the night. Phineas had hoped that once the war had ended his portrait would no longer be used for the comings and goings of Albus Dumbledore and his motley crew.

Snape didn't offer any greeting other than a grunt as he strode through the Headmaster's office towards the door.

Dumbledore followed him, seemingly unperturbed by such behavior. Arthur Weasley was still reeling with shock over the revelations that Hermione Granger; a girl he looked upon almost as a daughter, was having a child with the Potions Master. He'd heard the whispered rumor of a relationship – mostly because Remus Lupin had told he and Molly of what he had seen at the New Year's party, but in truth Arthur had dismissed it, sighting the fact that Remus had been drinking rather excessively that night and was probably hallucinating.

Harry, on the other hand, had calmed down considerably. He got out of his chair and followed Dumbledore, ignoring the flaring pain in his knee.

"Do you need to be filled in on what has happened, Severus?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

"I know what happened."

"Do you know who has taken Draco?"

"The Museum Curator."

Harry found himself jogging to keep up as they made their way down the corridor towards the dungeons. Dumbledore seemed to be keeping easy pace and Harry couldn't help but curse his mean stature. He couldn't allow himself to limp however, he knew that any weakness would be an excuse for Snape to leave him behind – and he wasn't planning on being left behind.

"Why would a museum Curator want Draco?" Harry demanded. "He'd have to be insane to just snatch him off the street like that!"

Snape didn't think the question worthy of an answer, and he figured the evidence stood for itself. He began his descent to the dungeons with the same purposeful stride that had gotten him down the hall in a few short minutes, kicking a curious Mrs. Norris satisfyingly out of the way as he went.

"How would he have known Draco was going to be there?" Harry continued, jolting his throbbing knee on every stair. "Draco wasn't supposed to be there…maybe he was waiting for someone else and took Draco by mistake!"

"Waiting for who?" Snape asked, not breaking stride, "who would be special enough to cause the man to lurk in Hogsmeade waiting for him?"

"I…" Harry flushed pink.

"Oh, you think he was waiting for you?" Snape hissed silkily, "don't flatter yourself Potter! The man worships beauty above all else, and aside from a half decent set of eyes there is nothing about you that would attract him."

Harry felt an unreasonable pang at Snape's blunt assessment of his physical attributes. "How…how do you know it was him?" Harry asked, panting a little at the effort it was taking to keep up, "How do you know he wanted Draco?"

"A House Elf told me," Snape growled, as he muttered the password to his chambers violently and the door swung open with a bang. Still he did not break stride. He went straight to the cabinet at the back of his small sitting area and opened it. Inside sat a multitude of bottles and jars, all medicines, all labeled neatly with names and dates. Harry was taken aback as he suddenly realized that almost every medicinal potion for any ailment of any student was sitting there under Snape's guard. Harry had always assumed Madam Pomfrey made them all, but now he knew better.

"What are you getting?" Harry asked stupidly.

"What do you think I'm getting?" Snape replied, not bothering to look at Harry. He pulled a large square jar of luminous green liquid from the cupboard.

Harry flushed. He had been so preoccupied with getting help that he hadn't considered the greater consequence. He had seen Draco at the start of an attack before. But what happened now, if Draco panicked, what would happen? Could they already be too late? "Do you think he'll need that?" Harry asked quietly.

"How long has it been?"

"A while, more than an hour."

"Then yes, I would say he will need it," Snape replied caustically.

"Why…why has this Curator taken Draco? What is he going to do to him?"

"Probably the same thing he's been doing to Lucius for the last year."

Harry paled.

"Severus," Dumbledore warned, "don't."

"It's alright," Harry said, "I know what has been happening."

Snape was looking through the cupboard for something more, but that didn't stop him from taunting Harry. "You knew then did you?" he asked, "If you knew why didn't you think to take more care of Draco? You were happy to screw him weren't you, but didn't that also extend to protecting him too?"

"I was…I wanted to…I was too late…"

"Then what good are you?" Snape found what he was looking for. To Harry it appeared to be a large syringe. Not the little plastic ones that populated Muggle hospitals and certain back alleys, but a heavy glass thing surrounded by silver filigree work. Snape attached a long and lethal looking needle and drew a measure of Navitas up into the glass tube. He then placed the whole thing into an ornate silver box.

"Why do we need the needle?" Harry asked.

"Emergencies." Snape tapped the box twice and it shrunk down to a tiny size. He pocketed it quickly and wished he had time to change into his robes.

"Can you do what is necessary?" Dumbledore asked, "treating the effects of Madragora in an emergency is a lost art, and you know what will happen if the needle misses its mark."

"What choice do I have?" Snape replied with some venom, "if he's so bad that he needs me to use it, then he's not going to make it to St Mungo's and even then…"

"There are so few healers who know how to administer it." Dumbledore sighed and nodded, his skin looked slightly ashen.

"I know the principles of the application," Snape said carefully, "and I may not have a choice."

"Do you know where he might have taken Draco?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Harry's pale features and deciding it best to get down to business.

"I'm assuming the museum," Snape replied preferring this subject to the last, "which poses problems in itself."

"The museum is ancient," Dumbledore agreed, "the building itself is like a maze, unless you know where you are going…"

"He may as well have taken Draco to the furthest reaches of the universe." Snape lit a fire and plucked a handful of glittering silver powder from a small pot on the mantle. He threw the powder into the fire and called "Non!" sharply into the flames.

A mini tornado began to whirl in the grate and within seconds the little House Elf that Harry remembered from Malfoy Manor clambered out of the hearth.

The little Elf dusted himself off and glared balefully at the Potions Master.

"Yes, Master Severus?"

Snape scowled. "The Curator has Draco, where would he take him?"

Non's eyes widened. "Master Severus should have let Non stay at the Museum," he cried, "Non could have warned Master!"

"You got caught you little rodent, and you're bloody lucky you aren't dead. Now, where did he take him?"

Non seemed to tremble for a moment but then looked stubborn. Harry guessed from the neat little suit he was wearing that the Elf had been freed, but unlike Dobby this little Elf had no reverence for his human companions. He glared at Snape. "What about the kitten?" he demanded.

"The charm obviously failed, or you aren't as skilled with a wand as you had hoped." Snape's voice edged towards a dangerous hiss, "now where is Draco?"

"Curator Semeuse would have taken him to the Museum," Non said, he glanced around at Harry and Dumbledore, "he would have him in his bedchamber."

"And where is his bedchamber?"

"At the top of the Museum. The entrance is secret. Non knows how to get there, so Non will have to take Master Severus."

"No, Non will not be coming. Non can draw a map. I'm not taking you with me."

Non looked disgruntled but did not argue. "As Master wishes," he agreed quietly.

"Good," Snape slapped down a piece of parchment and a quill, "now draw."

Non looked at the quill and parchment as though he had no idea what to do with them, then he set the quill aside, licked the tip of his finger and began to draw.

It was surprisingly effective. The line came out solid and black and he did a good job despite having Snape hovering over him like a vulture.

"You have to go through the Sais room," Non explained, "that's where the Death Eaters are kept. Curator Semeuse usually keeps Master Lucius with him, but if he has Master Draco then he probably won't have Master Lucius – Master Lucius will be very angry. Curator Semeuse goes another way, but the House Elves take these doors…" He drew in the doors. "You go through the Sais room and up the stairs, there are different landings, when you see three doors in a row you take the middle door and that will take you to the top of the museum. You go down the corridor and at the end are two big white doors, these lead to Curator Semeuse's chambers. He will have Master Draco there, Non is certain of it."

When he finished the map Harry snatched it from his boney hands.

Snape in turn snatched the map from Harry. "And just what do you think you're doing Potter?"

"Going with you of course!"

Snape smiled tightly. "Stay here and wait Potter, I'll bring him back to you."

"No," Harry said equally tight, "I'm coming with you."

"I am not going to argue with you Potter."

"Good," Harry said reasonably, "that'll make it nice and quiet when we get to the museum."

Snape sneered, but had to admit that Potter might be of some use, especially if there was a fight, and standing in his chambers and arguing about it would do nothing to help Draco. He nodded briskly, checked that he had everything he needed and grunted for Harry to follow.

"This will help you," Dumbledore said pulling a chain from his pocket. "The pendant is a Portkey, so that when you get Draco it will bring you all back to my office."

Harry took the chain and hung it around his neck, then he and Snape headed out the door without a word.

**********  
Somewhere in the distance came the wail of sirens. Fire Engines. Draco had been aware of them for a while. A number of minutes perhaps, five minutes at least. He was sure they were Fire Engines. He'd heard them before when he'd been to the village near his house, and again when he had gone to London during one minor act of rebellion four years past. Once his father had found him he had explained that the huge red trucks went to extinguish fires that some fool Muggle had lit and could not put out. Draco had stared at them with a little wonder and then stepped back from the gutter to avoid being run over. He remembered the sound of the sirens distinctly.

They were coming closer, rapidly growing louder and louder, coming closer and closer until the sound swelled, as though the sirens were right outside the door – and then they passed, receding into the distance.

But just as the sound dwindled a little, new ones shrieked afresh, coming hard on their heels.

 _Must be serious,_ Draco thought vaguely, _the castle must be on fire._

He knew he should move, but he was so comfortably asleep. Or was he hiding in sleep? The bed was soft beneath his back and even if the castle was on fire, he reasoned that there were plenty of Professors there to take care of it. And there were Fire Engines. Great big Muggle Fire Engines.

 _His back was burning._

He wondered who had called for Fire Engines. Why did they need them? Wasn't Hogwarts hidden from Muggles? How would they find it?

 _Something is very wrong here._

The thought startled Draco as though it was a whip cracking in front of his face. He sucked in a hard breath and suddenly wasn't comfortable any more. His lungs hurt. His back was burning and his heart was pounding in his chest. From deep in his belly a powerful and inexplicable surge of panic electrified him. He felt his fingers curl unbidden and grasp the bedclothes so tightly that his fingernails began to split and ooze blood from under them.

 _Something is…something is very very wrong…_

The air around him seemed oppressively heavy, like a weight smothering him and not the merciful source of life that it should be. It was hot and thick, as though it was not actually air at all but a bitter and poisonous presence.

He tried desperately to breathe but he couldn't. He could not pull the air into his lungs. It was as though an invisible weight sat squarely on his chest, crushing him down. Killing him.

 _I can't breathe!_

He tried to cry out, certain that if he did someone would hear him and come to help him. But panic had rendered him mute. He was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming and immobilizing fear.

 _But fear of what?_ He demanded of himself. _What am I afraid of?_

The fire. It had to be the fire. That was why the air was so hot and thick. That was why he couldn't breathe and his body felt as though it was burning. He must be trapped in the fire.

 _But there is no fire. There are only sirens._

He struggled against the unreasonable terror that had locked his muscles and joints. He tried to move but found he couldn't. He tried to open his eyes and found his lids impossibly heavy. And then he remembered. He was not at school. The sirens outside were not coming from trucks winding their way up muddy mountain tracks, and the terror he felt was not unreasonable. Not at all.

And now that he remembered he could feel it. Pain. His entire body seemed to erupt into pain. He knew why his back was burning. He knew why his heart was pumping wildly and he knew why the blood that coursed through his veins stung every nerve and fiber it fed.

He knew why he couldn't breathe.

His eyes snapped open.

"Ah! You're awake little one."

Draco wanted to scream. Every instinct told him to get off that bed and run. He would do anything; even hurl himself over that balcony and into the street below. He wanted to but he knew he could not. He couldn't move. Muscles and limbs would not respond, as though the all important part of his brain that controlled them had short circuited and left him powerless.

He forced himself to look up at his tormentor and take in his features. The Curator was an old man, not as old as Dumbledore perhaps, but old enough.

Draco desperately tried to move. He needed to get up, he needed to get out of there – or die trying.

"It's a potion." Semeuse explained gently with a smile in his voice. "Don't fret little Dragon. If you relax you will grow used to the sensation."

Draco didn't want to 'grow used to the sensation.' The very idea of staying this way terrified him. His limbs, as though by the very act of paralysis, had become hypersensitive and ached.

He closed his eyes again, going against everything his father had ever told him to do. He could almost hear Lucius now, _'never turn away from an enemy, always keep him in your sight.'_ But Draco doubted that his father had kept his eyes open every time this mockery of a man had mounted him. There was no way he could have. And Draco needed to close his eyes, because if he looked at the Curator he would never be able to focus on his breathing, and he had to keep breathing.

But the air was so heavy. How could anyone breathe when the air was so heavy?

"Draco? Wake up my little Dragon. It is always so much more pleasurable when I can see your eyes."

 _Oh God. No no no no no no no._ Draco opened his eyes again, his lids lifting to reveal the terror that he felt.

"Ah, my beautiful boy. Look at you. You are so very lovely." Semeuse stroked the length of him, allowing long fingers to trail over Draco's belly and into the concave hollow of his hip. "You must forgive me my earlier temper my darling, the scars came as a shock. Your father has been a very naughty Angel, because he didn't tell me that you were so desperately flawed. But really, some of histories most wonderful artifacts are all the more beautiful for the damages wrought by time." He smiled, concentrating his fingers on that milky white skin. "Perhaps in time the same can be said of you, little one."

Draco drew a deep painful breath. He had to speak. If he could not move he at least had to speak. He had to survive this, he had to stay alive long enough for someone to come and save him. Harry would come. Harry had seen him go and Harry would come to get him…even if Harry wasn't his Harry any more.

And Harry didn't have anything to do with this. Draco just needed to survive long enough for Harry to get there…or maybe Uncle Severus. Uncle Severus would be better. Uncle Severus wouldn't hurt as much as the pain in his lungs.

He drew in another painful breath and opened his mouth, forcing his throat to work and his tongue to move. "N…Navitas…"

"Navitas?" Semeuse frowned a little and then smiled with elation that his prize had decided to speak. "What is that little one?"

Draco felt tears coming again and he forced them down. He had to breathe and crying wasn't going to help that. "Navitas…"

"I don't understand you darling heart, what do you mean?"

Draco blinked and forced his dry throat to work again. "Medicine," he rasped, "Navitas…"

Semeuse smiled and gently stroked Draco's hip bone again. "You need medicine my Darling? Well, my Little Dragon, we will see how well you do now and I will look into this medicine later."

A tear escaped Draco's eye and slid down the side of his face into the tangle of his hair. He knew that _'later'_ was probably going to be far too late.

Semeuse licked the salty trail away and lifted Draco's hips, bending his knees back and spreading him wide for the assault.

Draco closed his eyes tight. He didn't want to watch the Curator's face while he was being raped by him. He'd already endured it more than once, and he didn't want the last thing he saw to be that man's face.

"Open your eyes, Draco."

Draco didn't respond and was rewarded with a slap across his cheek.

"Open them Draco, I want to see your eyes."

Draco opened them, hating him, finally hoping that he would just die, that the Madragora left in his body would finally finish the job. Semeuse was staring down at him as though he was some precious treasure but it meant little to Draco. Behind the Curator. Unseen and unnoticed, storm clouds gathered across the ceiling inside the room.

Draco's eyes widened and his mouth opened in wonder. He couldn't say anything…he didn't get time to.

A murderous barrage of lightening crashed like a volley of explosions from a Death Eaters Staff. Seven and then eight bolts rattled the windows and doors, one right after the other without a pause between them. For the first time Semeuse looked panicked and he backed away from Draco, crawling off the bed as each boom came, drowning out the last and heralding the next.

Draco watched the Curator as he stood in the centre of the room staring wildly around the ceiling as the storm mounted. Any sound of panic that Draco could make would never have been heard over the crashing thunder that was so loud it made his bones vibrate.

Then a fresh volley of lightening came and the sharp bursts of purple white light produced a series of jerky strobe like images that would be burned into Draco's brain. The Curator dancing dementedly in the centre of the room. Jumping into the air laughing maniacally and screaming into the storm;

"Your fireworks won't work my Angel! This immense electrical display is all for nothing! They are nothing but clever tricks my beautifully clever Angel!"

The last of Draco's breath caught in his throat and his heart, which had pumped dangerously fast in his chest, suddenly skipped as a searing pain shot through him, threatening to tear him apart.

For a moment he thought it had.

 _Oh Gods, this is it…_

The last thing he saw was a dark spinning shape that crashed through the doorway, tearing out boards and plasterwork from the wall as it made its' fierce approach. The blackened shape slowed and seemed to unfurl and for the briefest of moments Draco felt himself smile.

 _Oh wow, he really does have wings!_ And then everything faded to black.

**********  
Hermione had packed her carry all and had neatly folded Severus' things into his battered old bag. It felt strange returning to Hogwarts. For the first time in her life she was not looking forward to it. This had seemed too much to her like the life she was supposed to be living and returning to school felt so much like a step backwards. Still, she had to finish school and there was only a month to go before the start of exams.

She waited for the carriage in the lounge room where Minerva was prodding the fire irritably and muttered to herself about someone being stressed and deserving a bloody good kick in the arse. They wouldn't be waiting long for the carriage and she knew it. The Thestrals were swift and they would be back at Hogwarts within the hour.

Back at Hogwarts to wait.

"Are you feeling well?" Minerva asked, rousing her from her thoughts.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione replied and closed her eyes to rest them for a moment. "I'm just tired. I'm always tired at the moment though."

"It's the pregnancy," Minerva said and she sat on the couch beside Hermione, "you really should try to sleep while you can."

"I want to get back tonight," Hermione said and yawned.

"He won't thank you for wearing yourself out." Minerva picked Hermione's hand up out of her lap and inspected the ring on her finger. "This is very pretty, did Severus buy it for you?"

Hermione smiled without opening her eyes, "yes, he didn't want you to see it."

Minerva's eyes opened wide. "Why on earth wouldn't he want me to see it?"

"He says you'll think it's cheap."

"Oh don't worry about me, I just don't like diamonds very much – Albus loves them, he says they're whimsical."

Hermione laughed quietly and then thought it absurd that she was laughing while one of her friends was in some kind of terrible danger.

"Is it an engagement ring?"

The blush said it all but Hermione nodded and then she opened her eyes and looked seriously at Minerva. This woman had been something of an influence for her, she certainly respected her as a person and she was her head of house. In recent months a friendship of sorts had formed, and Hermione felt that she could perhaps talk to her about serious things. "Do you think I'm being foolish? Having a baby I mean?"

"I don't think bringing a new life into the world is foolish and when I was your age it was almost expected that we'd be married and procreating, so I can't tell you that you're too young."

"But what about my future, what about my career?"

"There is no reason why you can't have both a family and a career Hermione. A lot of Witches do it every day."

Hermione's experience of Witches with families was restricted to Molly Weasley, and while Hermione respected the woman no end, she did not want to end up like her.

"I had children and I still did as I chose," Minerva continued, deciding that giving an example was probably the best thing she could do.

"You have children?"

"Well, I had children, two sons, they died."

"Oh." Hermione blushed and looked horrified, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Hermione, they died before you were born."

"How…" Hermione wondered if she should ask it, and what if it was some terrible answer that she didn't want to hear, like they died in child birth?

"Voldemort killed them, oh a long time ago now."

"You seem so…calm about it."

"I've had a long time to accept it," Minerva said matter of factly, "and now I don't want to talk about them any more."

They fell silent and Hermione's thoughts once again turned to Draco. She felt sick but somehow she knew that taking a potion was not going to make her feel any better. "Do you think Draco is alright?"

"I don't know," Minerva sighed, "I hope so."

"The Curator, from the museum, he wouldn't hurt him…do you think?"

"I don't know," Minerva said again, "I hope he doesn't."

"What if…what if he does to Draco…what if he treats Draco the same way that he treats Draco's father?"

"What is he doing to Draco's father?"

Hermione coughed, because Minerva had obviously been kept out of that particular loop. A sound outside alerted them to the presence of the carriage in the street. She pushed herself up out of the couch and picked up her bags. The idea of Lucius Malfoy and the conversation she'd had with Severus earlier came into her head. For all of Severus' intelligence, Hermione had managed to get the hang of using the journal faster than he had. She figured that it was an illogical thing, and like many Wizards, Lucius Malfoy was illogical. After deciphering Harry and Ron for eight years, Hermione was used to illogical things – whereas Severus had a habit of dismissing them.

And Hermione knew where the Angel oil was, and that was a vital ingredient in the potion that Severus was brewing.

She could find the rest of the ritual. There had to be a key to it. Finding an actual Angel could not be the answer, so there had to be a substitute, a trick in there somewhere. She could find it out if she sat down and consciously went through the journal – she knew what she was looking for now.

"Come on dear, we should go."

Hermione smiled and followed Minerva to the door.

"So what has the Curator been doing to Lucius Malfoy?" Minerva asked.

"I'll tell you on the way home."

**********

Thunder clapped around the bedchamber which quaked under the onslaught of the internal storm. From outside came the sound of rain, pounding in unison and rattling the windows relentlessly as the storms ached to merge.

Semeuse did his very best to ignore the thunderous demonstration of power. He did not know how the Angel had discovered the presence of his son, but he did know that this storm could not last. Lucius could concoct fireworks to his hearts content but there was nothing he could do that would stop Semeuse from actually getting what he wanted. The Angel was having a tantrum, but very soon he would be exhausted and the storm would die down. Semeuse had no doubt that Lucius would eventually get used to the fact that Draco was here and in time he would grow to enjoy the company.

Draco was fading out of consciousness yet again and Semeuse wondered if perhaps he had given him too much of the paralysis potion. He was unsure of the potions side effects; so perhaps this strange need to sleep was one of them. Then again, perhaps his faculties were not quite sound, an inferiority from his mother, like the deformity of his back. But he truly could not seem to keep his eyes open and he made a dreadful sound with every breath he took. Semeuse touched his hand to the boy's chest and felt the heart racing beneath the ribs. His flesh was terribly hot, as though he was being consumed by fever.

Perhaps the boy was sick. Semeuse took a step back. He could not stand illness, he could not stand to look after an invalid. Semeuse had no fear for health of his beloved Angel. Lucius would last forever, or at least as long as Semeuse himself. The boy on the other hand appeared to be of a sickly constitution. He screamed during lovemaking, screamed and cried loudly and inconsolably. Semeuse had found himself longing for the quiet sobs and perfect flesh of his Angel.

If he could return the boy to where he found him, Semeuse reasoned, he would. As it was he would be leaving in a few short hours and taking Lucius with him. As for this child, it would perhaps be best to perform the Avada Kedavra and put the whelp out of his misery.

Then again, he didn't look very good, perhaps the curse would not be required after all.

"I don't know why you love him so, Lucius," Semeuse shouted into the storm, "he is weak, and he is not worthy of you!"

"I told you _not_ to touch him."

Semeuse froze. The voice, so wonderfully familiar now, was not inside his head. It did not speak to the most intimate parts of his brain as Lucius' voice so often did. This voice, Lucius' voice, was shouted out, thundering above thunder. The voice was born into the air.

The voice came from behind him.

Semeuse swallowed. "Clever Angel," he said, not turning. He didn't want to see Lucius yet. "You learned to climb stairs. You must be exhausted."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises."

The storm died down and the resulting silence was unsettling. Semeuse could hear the sound of the rain outside, gentle now instead of the heavy sheets threatening to batter in the roof. He could hear the various creaks and groans of the museum, things that would never have made his notice in the past but now, in this strange silence, they seemed distinct. He could hear Lucius breathing behind him. The breathing was steady, not heavy with exhaustion as it should be. Lucius was obviously calm; both the in and out of his breathing was even, and Lucius hadn't even broken into a sweat.

 _How had he managed the stairs?_

Semeuse looked at the youth lying sprawled on the bed. He looked like a broken doll. With a small note of disgust Semeuse noticed the blood soaking into the linen. Lucius bled, but not like the son.

 _And speaking of Lucius_

Semeuse turned to confront his Angel. To calm him. To dominate him. To forgive him the storm and demand his understanding.

Semeuse felt his mouth fall open.

 _"Angel?"_

And he was.

In his deepest imaginings Semeuse pictured Lucius to be golden, surrounded by light and if he was to embody the Angel that Semeuse thought him to be, then those glorious wings would be as white as freshly fallen snow.

But finally, after so long imagining, Archibald Semeuse could see just what kind of Angel Lucius Malfoy was.

He had fallen from heaven this beautiful Angel. Still beautiful, but as dark and as terrible as the deepest pits of hell. Semeuse could see finally just why his Angel had been so feared. Semeuse stumbled, his body working instinctively in an effort to get away. He fell backwards, almost falling on to the bed and yet he recovered himself. His mind whirling, wanting to see and to understand just what he had here.

The wings; _dear gods he had wings_ , twitched and held Lucius suspended close to the ceiling and they gleamed as black as those of a raven. His eyes were no longer grey, instead they seemed huge black pools and his lip was curled back in a feral, wolfish snarl.

"I told you to leave him alone. I told you _not my son!_ "

Semeuse's mouth opened and closed dryly. He had lived a long time and had seen a great many things. He had learned as a young child never to underestimate the limits of the magical world – but this was…an _Angel._ An actual _Angel._

"What's wrong _Archibald?_ Cat got your tongue?"

"My…my…my Angel… _Lucius_ …"

"I know who I am Archibald."

"How? How is this possible?"

Lucius smiled. He actually smiled and Semeuse marveled at the sight of him. "I must say, Curator, I didn't think you would be so lost for words. You usually have so very much to say. I've been waiting a very long time for this, I really do think I'm going to enjoy this."

Semeuse recovered himself and forced a calm smile. He spread his hands out openly. "You can't hurt me my Angel. Don't be silly my darling, you have no wand!"

Lucius chuckled low and deep. "Oh Archibald, how precious of you. Who said I was going to use _magic_?"

Semeuse's eyes widened and a moment too late he turned to dive for his wand that he had left so carelessly on his dresser. But Lucius, his dark Angel borne on black wings, was faster. He swooped down, tearing the Curator's head back by his silver hair. Semeuse gasped in shock as a second hand, surprisingly strong, cupped him under the chin.

"Now, this might hurt a bit," Lucius hissed, and twisted hard.

The resounding crack resonated through the room and Semeuse felt his breath catch – and then he fell.

********  
Hermione had not coped with the carriage ride particularly well. She felt positively green as she stepped out and had to sit down on a stone bench in the stables. The night was cold and as wet as ever, she had hoped they had seen the last of the rain for a while. It chilled her to the bone, but right now the cold felt good on the back of her neck.

"You need to rest," Minerva said, "I'll get you up to bed."

"No, I'm fine. I just need to let my stomach settle."

"I'll get you to Severus' room if you like, but I still think you should rest. You don't look well." Minerva pursed her lips and folded her arms. "You should leave this potion or ritual or whatever you have been babbling about to Severus, because you can't be running about trying to do everything – especially this."

Minerva had been skeptical about any help that they could offer to Lucius Malfoy. She had pointed out that Severus had a strangely soft spot for the man and that perhaps he wasn't thinking clearly himself. Hermione had insisted that he was going to discuss a deal with the Ministry. Minerva didn't like the idea of Hermione involving herself with it.

"I just need to go to Harry's room and get the journal and then to Severus' store room to get a few things and then I'll be happy to sit in his room all night and I'll disturb no one."

"Why are you doing this?" Minerva asked, "you don't owe Lucius Malfoy anything."

"I know…I…" So why _was_ she doing this? She really did not owe Lucius Malfoy – the man had been nothing but evil, she knew no good of him. In fact he had often expressed an opinion that people like her shouldn't even exist. The world would be better off without him.

But she knew why she wanted to do this. It was not because she wanted the knowledge, it wasn't even that she wanted to help Severus. Her motives were simple and foolish, but strong enough to drive her on. She had to take her mind off what was happening with Draco, and working had always been that one thing that would focus all of her attention. Working on something complex, a puzzle, trying to find an answer.

She stood up and dusted herself off. She picked up her bag and started up the stairs to the main hall of the castle and from there she would go to the South West Tower to find the journal. Minerva shook her head, sighed and followed her.

********

It would have killed a lesser man. It would have killed a Muggle. But it took a lot to kill a Wizard, everyone knew that. Lucius knew that. He smiled down at the Curator who lay on the floor, his head at an odd angle. He could read Semeuse's thoughts as easily as he could talk into his head, it was a skill he had perfected over the past months of hell and he couldn't help but smile a little broader as the man began to think that perhaps Lucius didn't want to kill him. Hurt him perhaps, flex his muscles, but ultimately they would be together. But as paralysis spread over the Curator's body his brain began to spark, sending out signal after signal to his body that was suddenly powerless to respond.

Lucius chuckled and drifted across the room to pick up the Curator's wand from the dresser. He waved it in Semeuse's line of vision.

 _But you said you weren't going to use magic._

Lucius shrugged unconcerned; "I lied," he said.

The Curator made a strangled sound in his throat.

"You don't know how I had hoped for this," Lucius said viciously, "I sat every day and hoped that I would get to see you die."

 _But I loved you._

Lucius hissed and raised the wand. "Crucio!"

The Curator's body began to jump and twitch and wrestle around on the floor, his head lolling around uselessly on his snapped neck and Lucius began to laugh.

"Does it hurt?" Lucius asked with elaborate concern, "does it feel good? Do you like it?"

Semeuse twitched as Lucius set a fresh wave of the Cruciatus curse upon him.

"Oh Archibald, I can only take pleasure in your misery…"

A soft moan interrupted him and Lucius swung around and felt his mirth subside.

"I think our time together has ended, Curator."

Semeuse gurgled a protest even as the death curse hurtled towards him, and then in an instant he was gone.

Lucius hovered for a moment and looked upon the body of his tormentor, and then a pain shot through him and he fell soundlessly to the bed.

The Angel that had kept him alive for so many months was exhausted and curling inside him, aching to be free of the mortal body that trapped it. The wings that had burst from his back had torn muscle, bone and flesh to ribbons that streamed in bloody strips of gore down his body. But all that didn't matter now. He felt the surge of power leaving his body and he suddenly felt very heavy.

"Draco," he said urgently, "Draco, wake up for daddy."

But Draco did not wake. He was sprawled on the stripped bed, cold and unconscious and horribly naked. Lucius stretched out his hand almost unconsciously and a thick blanket flew from the linen cupboard to him for him to cover his son. At home Draco had developed an almost prudish embarrassment of his parents seeing him naked, and while various rumors and tales suggested that he had no trouble being naked in front of other people, Lucius couldn't help but wrap him quickly to save him something.

"Draco, please, you must try to wake up."

Draco mumbled something through swollen lips. Semeuse had obviously beaten him and Lucius correctly assessed the reason as being the immense scarring from Draco's encounter with Alastor Moody.

"Open your eyes Draco!" Another pain shot through him and Lucius cringed into it. The wings began to fall away.

"You had wings…"

Lucius smiled and coughed out a sobbed laugh. "I know, I know sweetheart, but they are going away now, open your eyes, look."

"Harry…" Draco mumbled.

Lucius looked around desperately. Potter would come. If he knew Draco was missing and if he could find him, Potter would come.

Or Severus perhaps. Severus would know who had taken him. Severus would know where to go.

"Someone will come sweetheart. An Auror…or Snape…"

"Harry…"

"Or Harry."

"No…" Draco seemed to sink a little into the blanket, "he's not coming…"

"Don't, don't sweetheart. Stay awake, open your eyes."

But Draco couldn't and Lucius knew it. He placed his hand flat against Draco's chest and felt the erratic heartbeat. His breaths were becoming short and labored. Lucius felt everything he was begin to crumble. He could not know to whom he should appropriate blame, to Moody for weakening Draco so much, to Semeuse for beating and raping him or himself for being such an evil shit that Draco had been tortured in the first place. It didn't matter now. His son was dying. The only thing he had ever done that was any good was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

Someone had to be coming. Severus, or one of Aurors downstairs who might have heard the breaking glass and gone to see what the trouble was. Someone would come and they would help him. They would take Draco to the hospital and he would be fine.

"Draco, you have to listen to me. You must relax, I know it hurts but you must relax and breathe. It's very important, you must breathe for daddy." He crawled beneath the blanket and held his son and once again a pain shot through him. He closed his eyes and made sure that he could breathe himself. He couldn't die, not yet anyway. "Keep breathing Draco, out and in, we'll do it together." He kissed Draco roughly on his forehead, held him tight and said a silent prayer that someone came soon enough.

*******


	55. Resolutions Part 4

_Chapter 19 - Part 4_

The door to Severus' chambers were open when Hermione arrived and she stopped dead in the hall, clutching her bag with the journal and the phials of oil to her chest. Who was in there? Was she about to catch a couple of mischief making students who had decided to take leave of their senses and tempt fate? Minerva obviously thought so because she charged through the door to confront whoever was inside.

Instead of students they found grim faced Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore camped by the fireplace sobering themselves up with many cups of tea.

"What are you both doing in here?" Minerva demanded, "you scared me half to death!" She turned back and ushered Hermione into the room.

Hermione hesitated. She hadn't spoken to Dumbledore for a long time and she knew he was unhappy about her current situation. She wondered if he would feel better if she told him they were getting married. As for Arthur Weasley, she wasn't sure what he'd think. She doubted that he'd look on the match with a friendly eye. He would no doubt react the same way that Remus Lupin had. She felt her hand flutter uncertainly to her belly in a way that was fast becoming habit. Inside, almost unnoticed she felt a flutter, like the tiny wings of a butterfly.

"Professor Dumbledore, Mr Weasley…" she cringed at the sound her voice made, startled like a sixteen year old caught shagging in the rose bushes and not like the mature woman she was hoping to sound like. She clutched the little bag tighter and flattened her hand against her stomach.

"I take it they've gone," Minerva said, forcing Hermione further into the room. She was hoping to be able to force Hermione to go to bed, but now it looked as though she would be trying to force Albus and Arthur to leave. "Did Severus cause much of a fuss about taking Harry?"

"No Minerva," Dumbledore smiled gently at her, "I think he was fairly impatient to get moving and he was in no mood to argue. I have no doubt that he will lose Harry somewhere along the way. Harry refused help with his knee and Severus won't wait for him."

Minerva smiled ruefully. She could imagine Severus not only losing Harry in London but ensuring he stayed lost. The museum was in such an unsavory part of London. If Severus had his way he'd no doubt have Harry sold off as some kind of rent boy and would be pocketing the cash as they spoke.

No, Minvera smiled to herself. That was taking the fantasy too far. She giggled inwardly and stopped herself, she could hardly start laughing now at some absurd thought, not when the situation was so very serious.

Albus caught the edges of the thought however and chuckled.

"Hermione, come and have some tea," Minerva ordered and summoned a chair from across the room.

Hermione shuffled to the fireplace and smiled as cheerfully as possible. Arthur didn't look at her and she felt her stomach sink. He knew about Severus, she was sure of that, although whether or not he knew about the baby she did not know. Once again her protective hand found its way to her belly and she silently spoke to the child inside. Would people always be doing that? Avoiding her eye or giving her disapproving or disbelieving looks?

She hardened her determined chin and accepted the hot tea from Minerva.

"Was St Mungo's successful?" Dumbledore asked, "all is well?"

"Yes…yes Professor," she looked at Arthur Weasley who still wasn't looking at her but had pricked up his ears, "the baby is fine."

"And how far along are you?"

"A little over three months, Sir."

"I see," Dumbledore sipped his tea and watched her over the rim. She shuffled self consciously but Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he spotted the ring on her finger. "And congratulations appear to be in order."

Hermione twisted the ring and flushed, but she couldn't help but smile.

"It's lovely isn't it?" Minerva said, seeming to forget that she disliked diamonds.

"It is indeed, diamonds are such pretty things. But I'm surprised he didn't give you a Dragon Stone, he seems to like those."

"I chose the ring, Sir."

"Ah, well that makes more sense. Severus could never see the beauty in something so simple as a diamond, and I'm glad he has found himself a woman who can. What say you Arthur?"

Arthur couldn't speak, just as he couldn't look Hermione in the face. He could only consider that the girl had taken total leave of her senses. And what about Snape? He was a teacher! He had obviously taken advantage of his position in the worst possible way. It was disgusting, unethical and any number of things in between.

But then again he could not imagine anyone ever taking advantage of Hermione Granger. He had learned during the war, this was one girl who was more than capable of looking after herself.

Everyone seemed to swelter in the awkward silence and Hermione finally broke it. "Will they bring Mr. Malfoy back with them?"

"Lucius?" Dumbledore asked surprised, "I don't know, I think it will depend on the circumstances. I don't think they would go and remove him from the exhibition."

"Harry wouldn't do that," Hermione said quickly, "and he wouldn't let Severus do it either."

"But, if he is in any danger I believe they will bring him here." Dumbledore looked into her brown eyes, "why do you ask?"

He already knew, Hermione felt as though he had already plucked it out of her brain. "Mr. Malfoy did something before he was Kissed. He discovered that his line went back to our celestial beginnings and he summoned an Angel to protect his soul, but it didn't quite work out the way he thought it would, and he's stuck. His mind is active I think, but his body is like any one else who has ever been Kissed."

"He's conscious?" Arthur spluttered before Dumbledore could respond, "he's aware of what's happening?"

"Yes, apparently. Severus and Draco believe so anyway. They found it all in his journal and they sent a spy to the museum. Mr Malfoy sent word back to Severus for him to keep Draco away because the Curator wanted Draco. But Severus kept working alone. He's almost worked out the ritual and the potion…"

"What?" Arthur looked confused, "what do you mean he has worked out a ritual and potion? What is he planning to do?"

"They were trying to work out how to release him from his bind…"

Release him? What do you mean _release him_?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"Severus was going to talk to you about…"

"I told Draco Malfoy that I would return his father to his care if he testified for me!" Arthur sat back in shock. "He made out that it was such a decision. He said all he wanted was his father back and I agreed to it!"

Minerva was giving him her 'I told you so' look.

"He played me!" Arthur cried.

"Well, what did you expect?" Hermione all but snapped. "He is Draco Malfoy after all. What did you think he was going to do? Draco wouldn't just give you what you want. He'd always have to get something of equal value in return."

"And he would have released him! He would have released that animal into our world!"

Dumbledore held up a calming hand. "Arthur, stop. Severus would never allow him to do that."

"But he lied to me. I thought he had changed, I thought Harry had changed him!"

Hermione shook her head. "Mr Weasley, Harry would never change him, Harry wouldn't want to change him. But Professor Dumbledore is right, Severus wouldn't let him do that. He has an idea, he was going to speak with you about it. There is an ancient potion, Severus says it has no name, but that it can remove a Wizard's magical powers."

All three of her companions fell into a deathly silence, their faces shocked. After a time Arthur suddenly began to laugh, almost hysterical at the very idea.

"Lucius would rather die than be subjected to that," Dumbledore said, his voice sounded a little strained. "I can't believe that Severus would think this a solution."

"He said it was the only way that anyone could be sure that Mr. Malfoy couldn't escape from prison and that he wouldn't be a danger any more." She looked anxiously to Minerva who had gone chalky. "Severus thinks that Mr. Malfoy would consider it, for Draco's sake."

"I can assure you," Arthur said, finally coming out of his hysteria, "it would take more than loss of his powers to convince me to release Lucius Malfoy."

*******

Harry couldn't quite believe just how fast Professor Severus Snape could run. Ahead of him the Professor seemed nothing more than a black speck in the wet London street and although Harry could hear every pounding foot-fall he could not keep pace, not with his knee as bad as it was. He wished he had allowed Madam Pomfrey to come and look at it before they had left, but it would have taken too much time, and he hadn't wanted to be left behind. Now however he began to wonder if he was just going to be holding Snape back.

Snape rounded a corner and Harry lost sight of him. If Snape got into the Museum first Harry decided he would not beg to catch up. It would be better for someone to get to Draco fast.

Unbeknown to Harry, he and Snape had something in common. They both hated London. Harry had plans to live in the city, but it was more through lack of any other option. Unlike Ron, who found the city exciting after years of living in the relative seclusion of the country, Harry thought the city dirty and noisy. It was an impression that was only heightened tonight. The rain had only served to make the black grit that got up your nose and into your skin on most days wet and the resulting smell was foul. They were running through a popular part of Kings Cross, dodging Muggle club goers who turned to give an obligatory "Oi!" if they were accidentally knocked or brushed as the two Wizards passed them.

Harry rounded the corner that Snape had passed moments earlier. He'd never been to the Museum, he did not know what to expect, but there it was, looming up ahead, seemingly unnoticed by the Muggles heading to the various clubs and brothels that populated the area.

And Snape had stopped at the door. Stopped because two Aurors were stationed at the door and would not let him pass.

"Look, I don't have time for this. The Curator has taken a boy. I am a Professor at Hogwarts and I have been sent here by Dumbledore to get him…"

"I know who you are Professor Snape, but don't you think we would have noticed if the Curator had kidnapped someone?"

"Clearly you haven't noticed much at all," Snape replied irritably.

Harry ran up to the door, panting from the effort and clutching his knee. He didn't pause, he simply drew his wand, yelled "Stupefy" twice and the Aurors slumped to the ground. He then crashed his way through the door without a backward glance.

Snape couldn't help but look impressed, he also felt a small thrill of pleasure at the fact that Potter would no doubt have to answer for it the next day. The he followed the limping hero into the Museum.

"Where is the Sais room?" Harry asked desperately as he looked around the darkened entrance hall.

Snape looked in all directions, then saw the sign that indicated where the Death Eater Exhibition was being housed out of the corner of his eye, and jogged off towards it. Harry followed painfully in his wake.

"If you can't walk you should have stayed behind," Snape panted.

"Oh right, if I hadn't come you'd still be at the door arguing with those Aurors."

"I would have stupefied them eventually…" Snape burst through the entrance to the Sais room and found his feet grind to a halt. Behind him Harry did the same thing.

The room had been utterly destroyed. Cabinets of Dark Arts Artifacts seemed to have exploded of their own volition, showering the room with glass and dispensing objects all over the floor. Snape made his way through the room to the antechamber that held the Death Eaters and drew a harsh breath.

Each of the glass cases had ruptured, slicing into the occupants and inflicting wounds which had no doubt been fatal to each. Lucius was missing.

"What happened?" Harry breathed, "The Curator…did he kill them?"

Snape doubted it. From all that Non had told him of Curator Semeuse there was no way he would destroy something in his museum so viciously. He thought back to Christmas and the way the case had exploded in time to save Draco once before. "Lucius did it," he said with certainty.

"But why?" Harry asked, "Why would he kill his friends like this?"

Snape looked at the bodies of the Death Eaters on the floor. People he knew, but he would never have called them friends. He doubted Lucius would have either but like many in the Wizarding world, Lucius would have thought they deserved better than those cases. "He put them out of their misery."

Harry swallowed and opened the map that Non had drawn.

"Show me," Snape ordered.

Harry could have argued, but standing in this room he decided it just wasn't worth it. He wanted out of there as soon as was possible. He handed Snape the map.

The stairs were through a door at the back of the dark room but Snape didn't bother telling Harry. He assumed Harry would just follow him and Severus was correct. They began their ascent up the stairs, Snape holding the map, confident that they would soon find the three doors together. Non had marked several landings that contained the doorway portals, but they soon found that the museum was not what it seemed. They reached landing after landing and at no point did they find three doors side by side. On the occasions that they bothered to stop and try a door, they would often find it opened to one room and once closed and opened again it would open on another. There was a method to it. Snape explained in an effort to understand it himself. Certain combinations of doors and certain combinations of opening and closing would take you wherever you wanted to go. Which was fine, if they could just find three doors in a row.

After seven flights of stairs Snape finally stopped on a landing and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. His excuse should Potter ask, was that he was being nice enough to wait for him. The truth was he was exhausted and beginning to wonder if he was getting too old for this. He pulled out the map and stared at it, hoping that the House Elves scrawl would suddenly reveal some kind of answer to him. It did not. And then Harry arrived, panting with exhaustion.

"How much further?" Harry asked, rubbing his knee and wishing he could just collapse somewhere.

Snape turned the map upside down to see if it made any more sense and silently cursed the illogical creature who had drawn it. He looked at the short landing and the next set of stairs. They seemed never ending and Snape himself felt like a tiny insignificant creature set adrift on a never ending path upward. Forced to climb stairs until he died – some kind of punishment for his sins perhaps.

But Potter was with him and while Snape had no doubt that Potter had sins to confess he could scarce believe they were so bad as to send him to this particular hell.

"Why is that no matter how far we go we never seem to get anywhere?" Harry asked, not entirely confident with Snape's silence in the face of his last question.

"The museum is built so that the exterior is small but its interior is infinite."

"Like the Tardis?"

"The what?"

"The Tardis…Dr Who? Don't tell me you don't know who Dr. Who is, he was your time after all!"

Snape stared blankly at Harry.

"It's a television show…Professor Dumbledore loves it. He got all the video's over the summer and forced us to sit through them."

Snape, who had never watched television in his life, just stared in disgust.

Harry fell silent for a moment, and then; "Alright, so the interior is infinite, but that doesn't explain why we can't find these doors. There has to be a shortcut, you can't tell me that the old man I saw climbs these stairs every day."

"No doubt he has his ways. Unfortunately we do not know them, now if you could shut the fuck up for five minutes I might well be able to work out where we are."

"Work out where we are?" Harry cried, "you have the map! You mean to tell me you have no idea where we are?"

Snape didn't answer, he was puzzling over the map and then suddenly he was looking at a part of the wall very close to the ground.

"I spent a lot of time deciphering the Marauders Map," Harry said as tactfully as he could, "so, maybe I should look at it."

Snape was looking at the map again and then at that same spot on the wall.

"Oi, Snape, I'm talking to you."

"Shut up Potter."

"Do you want me to look at the map?"

"Not particularly. I know where we are."

Harry's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Ok, so where are we?"

"In the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities," Snape replied silkily, "and we have to go down four flights."

"But there were no doors down there," Harry argued.

"Yes there were."

"No, we both saw – there was two doors, never three."

Snape walked away from him, jogging quickly back down the staircase they had just come up, and after a moment Harry sighed and followed him.

When they reached the correct landing Harry couldn't help but look smug. There were no doors here at all. "I don't see any doors," he said in his best 'I told you so' voice.

"I do," Snape replied, but he did not sound particularly happy about it.

"Where?"

Snape pointed wordlessly and Harry followed the line of his finger to a point near the floor.

Harry's eyes widened. "Those?" he asked, thoroughly befuddled, "they can't be doors. I thought they were vents!"

Again Snape gave him a withering glare, successfully masking the fact that he too had thought the doors to be vents. It made perfect sense now. This was how the _House Elves_ got from place to place when they weren't Apparating. He pointed his wand at the middle door and instructed it to enlarge.

Nothing happened.

Harry stared openly at him, blinked several times, but wisely decided not to comment.

Snape crouched in front of the door and opened it. Getting down onto his hands and knees he could see a long corridor on the other side and at the end two regular sized doors that must be the "big doors" that led to the Curator's chambers.

"Well?" Harry asked impatiently.

"I think this is it," Snape replied. He sat back a bit and sized the door up visually. Then he peeled his thick woolen jumper up over his head.

"Wait…" Harry looked panicked, "how…how are we going to get through there?"

"Crawl," Snape replied as though the answer was obvious. He discarded his jumper beside the tiny doorway.

Harry gaped at the Potions Master. Knowing full well that he could hardly comment on the faded black T-shirt, he was taken aback by just how thin the man was. But of course, at that moment, being thing was going to work in Snape's favor when it came to getting through that door. He watched as Snape lay on his side and began to wriggle through, arms first. Harry absently scratched his belly as he watched the skinny torso, waist, hips and legs disappear through the small opening. Snape was incredibly thin, but Harry, though slim, was a healthy eighteen year old who had left his undernourished days at Privet Drive far behind him. He may be short but he came complete with broad shoulders, muscle and a slightly soft little belly that Draco liked to tickle when they were intimate, but was not going to do him any favors in this instance.

He seriously doubted his ability to get through that door.

On the other side of the door he could hear Snape shuffling as he got back on his feet.

"If you're coming Potter I suggest you do it now, otherwise I am leaving you behind."

Harry swallowed. He had no jumper to remove and doubted that taking his t-shirt off was going to make one bit of difference. He struggled painfully to the floor and tried to mimic, as best he could, Snape's action of sliding through the doorway.

It was a tight squeeze.

"Oh fuck, how did you get through here?"

"Shh!" Snape looked around, like the rest of the museum the corridor was eerily quiet. No sound came from the distant doorway and Snape could see that something was horribly wrong here. Like the Sais room, this corridor was in not so much disarray as it was a disaster zone. Paintings had been knocked from the walls, the ones that remained were drenched, as though rain had showered down upon them. The carpet was wet beneath his boots and the corridor was cold.

He turned back to Harry who was struggling through the doorway and appeared to be stuck around his middle. For a moment Snape was absurdly reminded of the door plaque on Hermione's bed room, Pooh Bear stuck coming out of his hole after eating too much honey. He wished that he had brought a shrinking potion with him, not that he would ever take it himself, they had a dreadful habit of leaving ones genitals at the shrunken size – but he'd have no problems giving one to Potter.

"Would you help me… _please_ ," Harry asked looking frustrated with his lack of progress.

Snape considered leaving him there for the Aurors to locate once they woke up, but he did not know what was going to happen in that room…and Hermione would kill him if he left her best friend stuck half way through a wall. He reached down and grabbed Harry's wrists and pulled hard.

And Harry yelled in pain as he came through, tearing out the doorway and taking part of the wall with him.

 _"Would you be quiet!"_

Harry glared at him, hating him and wondering just why Hermione was so infatuated with the skinny old bastard.

Snape looked down at Harry and smirked. His pants were riding low on his hips and there was a nasty gash over his hip bone – no doubt the cause of the yell.

"That old man does not use those doors," Harry panted as he struggled to stand up.

"Well obviously Potter, but _we_ don't know how _he_ gets around, and _we_ only have a map drawn by a House Elf."

Harry dabbed his fingers at his throbbing hip and they came away bloody. He looked down to inspect the damage and felt a little sick. He wondered if Wizards could get Tetanus.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked.

Harry looked at the doors at the end of the corridor, they were open, though one seemed to be hanging off its hinges. He drew his wand and they both started off towards them.

********  
Hermione chewed her lip and poked the fire with a viciousness akin to Minerva's earlier efforts at Grimmauld Place. She almost dislodged a log and held her breath as it slipped a little. Severus would not thank her for burning all of his possessions to ash. Severus was not going to thank her anyway, not after her choice words to Arthur Weasley.

Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? Why could she not have simply come back and focused her attention on Draco like everyone else and kept her mouth firmly shut? Especially in front of Arthur Weasley. Why did she have to start on about Lucius Malfoy?

In front of Arthur Weasley; the soon to be new Minister of Magic, for goodness sakes! It was about as sane as suggesting they call their child Sirius James if it was a boy! She should have left it to Severus to negotiate. He was right, she was so eager to prove her own intelligence that she didn't think before she spoke. She was so busy learning the content of every book that she neglected to learn the basic necessary life skill of shutting up at the right moment?

Dumbledore had taken Arthur back to his office to continue the argument and, as Minerva hissed to Hermione, try and talk some sense into Arthur. Minerva had noticed Hermione getting over excited and had hurried to get the men out of there and had instructed Hermione to rest. Hermione was not going to rest though. She couldn't, not when she was this angry at herself. The argument had stretched from Lucius Malfoy to Hermione's life choices and so she did not want to go anywhere near the Headmaster's office. Severus would come and tell her when they returned, and she could confront the horror then.

She had locked the door once they left her in peace and gone to the wardrobe where she found that Severus had left all of the things he had brought for her in the same place she had hung them. She found the soft silk pajamas he had given her when she had stayed at The Fenn and wrapped herself in a long green dressing-gown. Then she had settled in front of the fire and had begun the process of berating herself over and over again.

At least she hadn't been fool enough to mention that she had the journal with her – and Minerva had mercifully said nothing about it.

 _Because Minerva knew how to keep her mouth shut!_

She opened the journal yet again and studied the ritual. It was written over a number of pages, in no particular order. She went so far as to tear the pages out of the journal and place them on the side table so that she could create an order without losing them inside the book. She had placed the phials of oil on the table in their ancient stand. She had no idea where she would find feathers and blood.

There had to be a trick to it. She stared at the journal. "What is the trick to the ritual? What is the key?"

The pages of the book began to turn, filing wildly through the book until they reached their mark. She poured over the page and found a photograph of Draco there. She lifted it out, it was not one that had been spat at Harry and it was a page that had remained hidden from her until now. There were probably thousands more hidden pages, the journal was probably dripping with evil.

She cringed a little and picked out the photograph. She turned it over and found writing on the back.

 _"I am the seeker. I am the bringer of light. Lady of wisdom, hidden behind the veil, sees my struggle and knows my travail. I call upon the great lady, known as Sophia, Minerva, Artemis, Isis, Hecate, Bendidia. Guide me now as I search out the roots of my beginnings through histories remains._ __

 _With my lady as my lantern, I am the hermit seeker. Join the Angels hand in mine. Blood of the Angel. Blood of my kind. Blood of the lord. Serapis, Draconis, Osiris, Sirius, Apis. Bringer of blood. Bringer of life. Bringer of release."_

She frowned. This was the key? He had to have been desperate to do this. The ritual to create the bind was far easier than the ritual to release. How could he have risked it?

Because he _was_ desperate. He had been terrified and anything that could offer hope was worth it.

They could not bring another Angel down. He had called down the Metatron who had given him the name of the first of his line. Azazel the Fallen One had then been summoned and imprisoned inside of him. He already had the Angel, and there was no other Angel that they could call to hold his hand for release – was there?

"Join the Angels hand in mine."

But what Angel?

She closed her eyes. What if the Curator hurt Draco? What if he raped him? What if he killed him? What would it do to Harry for that to happen? He already blamed himself for so many deaths, how would he be able to stand this one?

She opened her eyes. It was not good to start thinking about other things. She focused her eyes on the photograph.

"Blood of the Angel… _blood of my kind._ Serapis, Draconis, Osiris, Sirius, Apis. Bringer of blood, bringer of life, bringer of release."

Ok. So Lucius Malfoy calls down Azazel and imprisoned the first of his line inside him. But there was supposed to be another Angel, also of his line, whose blood would release him.

" _Blood of my kind._ Serapis, Draconis, Osiris, Sirius, Apis."

 _"Blood of my kind…Draconis…"_

"Draco is the Angel," Hermione said to the fireplace. "That's the key. We've been running around looking for bloody Angels, and he's been here all along."

********

Harry found that he instinctively slowed as he drew nearer the ruined doors of the Curator's chambers. He knew that he shouldn't. He knew that he should just be charging ahead, just as the Harry of old would have done, but as he stared at those doors he found he could not. Draco was in there. He knew it. He could feel Draco's presence, like an extra sense. Draco was in there and it could be bad.

It was just so quiet.

Had there been yelling or screaming or crying or something – but there was nothing at all.

Ahead of him Snape had also slowed down. He hesitated at the doors, but did not go through them. Harry drew to a stop beside him and they both stared at the entrance way.

"They're dead," Snape said and Harry wondered if he knew that he'd said it aloud.

Harry shook his head. They couldn't afford to think that way and the expression on Snape's face told Harry well enough that though he was voicing his fears, it was not a certainty.

It was cold. From inside the room icy air seemed to emanate out to them, as though all of the windows had been left open and the night had crept inside. They could both remember a quiet cold like this and although Harry could not think where or how he remembered it, Snape knew full well. It had been cold like this all those years ago when he'd entered the ruin of a child's room in Godrics Hollow. But that room had not been quiet like this, in that room there had been the sound of a baby crying – a portent of the horror within.

Snape looked at Harry Potter and felt his stomach roll. Something was dead in that room.

Keeping their wands raised they both entered the room.

A storm had swept through it. Aside from the bed there was nothing in that room that had been left intact. Furniture had overturned, mirrors shattered, boxes, crates and traveling trunks we scattered and upended, their contents strewn carelessly over the wreckage of the room itself. And everywhere was littered with long black feathers, as though a murder of crows had come here and shed. As with the hallway, the room was wet. Water had soaked into everything, their feet made a strange squelching noise as they walked and each foot fall seemed to end in a strange suction into the carpet.

But the bed was dry. The bed was untouched and there was someone in that bed, huddled under blankets.

A body lay twisted on the floor. He was instantly recognizable to Snape who had seen him well enough before, but Archibald Semeuse looked nothing like the well groomed man who had greeted him so many months before. He was naked, his silver hair was soaked and yet it seemed to stand on end. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his mouth opened in what could have been a scream of terror or a maniacal laugh. Either way, he was most certainly dead and judging from the way he faced them with his body twisted a hundred and eighty degrees, his passing had not been a peaceful one.

Harry made a strange retching noise in his throat.

 _Oh great! The fucking boy who lived is going to throw up._

But Harry didn't. He knew he'd seen worse, but his eyes kept focusing on the man's neck and how the skin looked so much like a wringing towel. He looked away and finally forced his focus to the bed.

 _Oh Gods, please don't let him be dead._

Snape did not hesitate. He walked past Harry and leaned over the side of the bed, reaching forward to grasp the covers and pull them back.

And was suddenly thrown back himself as the blankets were hurled away and something came at him with a banshee like yell.

It took him less than a second to know who it was, but he also knew that Potter was there, wand drawn. He grappled desperately behind him, trying to save himself from the fall while fending off the attack coming at him from the front. A steadying hand found the centre of his back and he realized that Harry Potter had just saved him from falling on his arse and almost too late he saw Potter's wand fly past his face in the direction of the attacker.

"DON'T!" Snape roared, not knowing if Potter had seen who it was or if he was reacting solely on instinct and would seek to fend off the attacker with some kind of hex. Snape knew it was Lucius. Lucius following the most primal and basic of his instincts – protecting his young. Everything seemed to freeze. From the corner of his eye he could see Potter's wand pointing past his face, and in front of him, emaciated and frail, Lucius shivered, snarled and pointed a wand of his own, only an inch from Snape's eye.

"Lucius…" Snape forced his voice to steady, "Lucius, it's me…you're alright…"

Lucius was shaking, holding himself up somehow with a body that seemed insubstantial beneath the shapeless white shift he was wearing. He looked through haunted grey eyes at his old friend and his eyes widened and now seemed too large for his face.

"You're alright Lucius…we're here to help you."

Lucius didn't stop shaking, but slowly the wand lowered and he coughed out a laugh and then coughed again, this time a sob. And then he fell forward and his arms found their way around Snape's neck as he collapsed into the first comforting embrace in what seemed like a lifetime.

The back of the shift was a bloody mess and yet he did not seem to care, he just wanted arms around him, if only for a moment. Snape stiffened a little as he realized that Lucius' back had been torn to ribbons and he wondered how it had happened. Lucius was giving no answers to that question however, his only concern was for his son.

"Draco…" Lucius whispered. Now that he was saved his strength waned and he seemed to be on the verge of falling into a stupor.

"I have serum here," Snape said quickly, "he's going to be fine." But even as he said it he found himself hoping against hope that he was right. Draco could well be dead under there. And if he wasn't, Snape had no idea if he could do this. He certainly hadn't moved and Lucius' screech would have been enough to wake him had he been asleep.

"Quickly," Lucius murmured, "please…"

Snape craned his neck around to Harry behind him. "Take Lucius would you?"

Harry looked from the covered figure in the bed to Lucius in Snape's arms and decided he would much rather get to Draco. But he had some common sense. Snape was far better qualified to look after Draco than he was at that moment, and so he should just take Lucius was Snape had asked. But he hesitated, it was one thing to have gained some kind of begrudging respect for the man, it was another to actually touch him. He gathered his nerve and reached out to take the frail body from Snape.

It felt strange to be holding Lucius Malfoy. It was better to think of him as Draco's father somehow. The body did not tense at all with the changing of arms and Harry realized that Lucius had shifted consciousness somehow and now he was not quite awake. He was so still that for a moment Harry feared he had died when suddenly he blinked.

 _This is the Kiss, this is what it does to a body._

Harry felt his skin crawl, but he held the bloody body a little tighter.

Snape tugged at the blanket which had been wrapped tightly around Draco. Lucius had taken great care to secure him, to keep him warm and safe. Unwrapping him seemed wrong somehow, but it had to be done.

"Draco," Snape said quietly, hoping for some kind of response from his godson. Then the blankets finally gave way and the damage was there for all to see.

Harry made a noise like a wounded animal. For a moment Snape thought the boy would drop Lucius and then go and macerate the Curator's body to a bloody pulp. Draco was almost unrecognizable such was the swelling on his face. His pale body seemed nothing more than stark white flesh and large black bruises. And there was blood. Blood on his back, blood running down his legs.

Blood because he had been torn open. It was Snape's turn to wretch. He felt for a pulse.

"Is he alive?" Harry asked, but his voice was so quiet that Snape almost missed it.

"I don't know," Snape replied. He felt for the pulse again, searching for the right point, his shaking hands making the task all the more difficult. "Come on Draco," he murmured almost to himself, "you're not the type to just up and die."

And he was right. There was a pulse, erratic but stubborn and desperately trying to keep it's owner alive. Snape pulled the silver box from his pocket and tapped the top. It expanded until it was full size again and Snape swallowed as he opened it. Inside the syringe full of Navitas seemed to glow.

"What Professor Dumbledore was saying," Harry said, "what did he mean? Where do you have to put that?"

Snape hissed for him to be quiet. He knew well enough Dumbledore's warning, it was currently ringing in his head. The application of Navitas in such emergencies was a lost art. After the fall of Grindelwald, Madragora had fallen into obscurity and its cures were all but forgotten. The Healer who had taken care of Draco when he had first been taken into St Mungo's had been an old man, someone who remembered Grindelwald's terror – and who had died not long ago. Snape had not lied when he said that he knew the basic principles of the application, but he had never trained as a healer. Part and parcel of becoming a Potions Master was to learn basic medical knowledge in relation to the potions you created, but he was certainly not qualified for this. He quickly speculated on whether or not Poppy Pomfrey could do a better job and whether or not Draco would survive the necessary journey by Portkey.

But judging from the blood that suddenly streaked out from between Draco's lips and down the side of cheek, Snape figured not. Draco's lungs were becoming too strained. The Madragora was eating away at them. He was not going to withstand being whisked through the atmosphere and bumped across the country.

And so it had to be done now. Snape almost chewed his lip in the same way Hermione would if she was confronted with such a prospect.

The needle had to enter the heart, but at an exact point so that it cured him, not killed him. There were ways to find that spot and he knew it, but he studied the pale flesh first, hoping for a mark, a scar, anything that would give him a tell tale clue of where that Healer had put a needle almost a year before. But there were no scars on Draco's chest, nothing but bruises marred that skin.

"Hurry Severus, he's dying."

Snape jumped as the voice spoke straight into his brain. He looked at Lucius in amazement, although he knew he shouldn't be. Non had told him that Lucius could communicate that way – however he did it, it was still unnerving.

He placed his open hand on Draco's chest and felt for the beat of his heart. It came to him, spasmodic at best. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself. The heart would tell him where to go, he just had to listen and feel. He held his breath, waiting and hoping and suddenly there it was, a feeling of warmth near the bottom of his palm. He didn't bother to open his eyes, he simply grabbed the needle and plunged it in, straight through his own hand, that tiny pinpoint of warmth and into the beating muscle.

 _Please let it be the right place._

Draco coughed, splattering blood across Snape's face.

Harry started, swaying a little at the sight of the needle passing through Snape's hand and into Draco's chest, but wanting to reach for Draco.

"Don't," Snape cried, "don't touch him…he's fine, just don't touch him."

Harry tried to sit back and remained in horrified silence. He gripped Lucius tighter, digging his fingers into the skinny arms and yet Lucius offered no protest. He too seemed to be holding his breath and waiting.

Draco coughed again, bringing up more blood, and then he took a long merciful breath. His eyes snapped open and he looked Snape full in the face, and then he fell back in the bed unconscious. Unconscious but breathing.

Snape withdrew the needle and flexed his injured hand. Navitas was a marvelous creation, the trail of it wormed its way through the wound and he could feel the flesh already knitting itself together. With sudden briskness he began wrapping Draco again.

"Make sure you have Lucius secure."

Harry was startled. Snape was already pulling Draco off the bed. "Is…is he alright? Shouldn't we make sure he's alright?"

"He'll be fine. He'll be better off if we aren't here. Now get Lucius ready, we're going."

Harry fastened his grip on Lucius with one arm. From somewhere he could hear the sound of footsteps. The Aurors had woken at last and he knew that if they got there they wouldn't let them leave – not with the body on the floor like that and certainly not with Lucius. They needed to get Draco out of there. He held the chain of the Portkey out and Snape ducked his head under it so it was around both their necks. He had Draco securely in his arms and he gave one final look to the door as Harry activated the Portkey and they were away.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

 _Notes:_ __

 _Thanks Ozratbag2 again for betaing for me – it's almost over!_ __

 _There is only one more chapter to go and an epilogue which will be posted at the same time. So only one more, it's almost done. YAY!_ __

 _Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. I got so many e-mails with suggestions about what I could do to save Draco and I hope this didn't upset too many people – but his fate was sealed a while back._


	56. All Things Must Pass

_Disclaimer: Please see prologue._

 **Chapter 20** ****

 **All Things Must Pass.**

It never seemed to matter how much warning they received, exams always seemed to catch the Hogwarts student body by surprise. Despite NEWTS being the most important exams of the Hogwarts curriculum, the night before exams started was the same as any other year. The South East Tower was filled with the stench of sweat and desperation from students who were hopelessly under-prepared for what was about to come.

Behind a large stack of books Lavender Brown was aching to bang her head on the table and do herself an injury rather than face the prospect of the following day. On the other side of the books, calmly facing the large open windows and with her feet comfortably resting on the widow sill, Hermione was uncharacteristically calm. She reclined in her comfortable chair and gazed out into the warm sky which had darkened slightly into twilight. It was her favourite time of the day, that strange time between day and night. Her calm exterior masked the true terror inside her. For the first time in her life she had no fear of exams, she knew what she needed to know, she was not fooling herself into thinking that she could possibly fail. What worried her had little to do with school work. For the first time in her life Hermione Granger was unconcerned with school grades. She could walk out of Hogwarts tomorrow without ever sitting exams and still she would be unconcerned by this part of her future. At that moment the worry that filled her was just how she was going to tell her parents about her child and imminent marriage. But this worry was masked effectively, a by-product of her latest favourite food. Potatoes, done any way, with plenty of butter and salt.

Today they were boiled new potatoes that Dobby had dug up out of the remains of Hagrid's vegetable garden. She smiled down at the bowl dreamily. The potatoes were swimming in butter and the salt was actually crystallizing over the top.

Never before had she craved salt as she did now, and it didn't seem to matter how often Lavender and Minerva told her not to pour it over everything, she could not seem to help herself. She had joked that had she not had her salt she doubted that she would have coped with the past month - what with Harry and Severus both being hauled off to Azkaban after being accused of murdering Archibald Semeuse. They had not stayed there long before they were cleared, but it had been a tense few days and both had looked decidedly haggard when they returned to the school. Arthur Weasley had flown into a panic about just what to do with Lucius Malfoy who had landed in Dumbledore's office in Harry's arms like some kind of unwanted growth. Lucius was here, hidden somewhere in the castle until Arthur Weasley and Cornelius Fudge could come to some kind of agreement about just what to do with the ex Death Eater. Hermione had seen him before he had been hidden away and had been surprised by her own reaction. It seemed that once she saw the attraction of the older man the rest just sort of fell into place. He was gaunt and wasted to be sure, but she could finally see just what everyone had raved about. Severus said that it was the Angel inside him rather than the man himself; Hermione hoped that was true.

"Err…Hermione?"

Hermione jumped, as though whoever had disturbed her could see straight into her brain and guess her thoughts and she felt herself blush a little at the idea of being caught thinking about Lucius Malfoy. She forced a smile to cover her embarrassment and looked expectantly at Susan Bones who was standing awkwardly by the side of her armchair. Hermione frowned a small frown. Susan had seemingly taken Lavender's vacated position in what Hermione had dubbed the "Bitch Brigade" some years before. She looked back at the rest of the girls who were watching Susan eagerly and Hermione felt herself shudder. "Hi…Susan…what's up?"

"We're friends, right?"

Hermione once again cast a glance at the other girls. They were notorious gossips. Hermione had been horrified when she had been given Lavender as a roommate for that very reason. She had lived in dread once Lavender had found out about Severus – but it seemed that Lavender had gladly relinquished her position in the Bitch Brigade and Susan had stepped into it with little thought at all. Hermione looked at her with a hearty dose of cynicism and said, "Yes, of course we're friends, Susan, why?"

"Well, you'd want me to tell you something…if I thought something was wrong…or I was worried about you…right?"

Hermione hesitated and wondered what was coming. " _Are_ you worried about me, Susan?" she asked cautiously.

"Well yes…you see…" Susan shuffled from foot to foot and looked back to her friends who all appeared to be leaning forward waiting to hear something. "It's just that, well, I… _we_ …have noticed that you have been…well…eating…a lot lately…"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up and disappeared beneath her fringe.

"And we've noticed that you have been putting on a little weight…"

A hot blush began to crawl up the back of Hermione's neck and she set the bowl of potatoes aside.

Lavender's face suddenly appeared over her stack of books. "Fuck Susan! What the hell are you on about?" She looked from the fast recoiling redhead to the two girls perched eagerly on the settee across the room. "It's none of you business what she eats! Don't you have exams to study for? Do you cows have nothing better to do with your time?"

"Lav, it's alright," Hermione said quietly. She couldn't quite bring herself to look at anyone and her hand found its way instinctively to the small mound of her belly and the soft bubbling feeling coming from within. She felt again that she just wanted the year to end so that she could stop hiding her pregnancy. She just wanted to get to the Fenn and settle into her life.

"It's not alright," Lavender insisted. "You haven't put on weight!"

Hermione gave her a warning glare. It was true that she had not put on much weight, but her breasts had swelled considerably and beneath her robes they made her look larger than she actually was.

Lavender was not in the mood to be put off however and she glared balefully at Susan. Susan in turn ran red to the roots of her hair and then turned and fled back to her friends. Lavender then turned her concern to Hermione who was shaking her head with a rueful smile.

"They're _your_ friends," Hermione pointed out.

"They're doughy fucking cows," Lavender grumbled. She returned the bowl of potatoes back to Hermione's lap. "Don't listen to them, a couple of weeks and you won't have to see them again. Besides, the book says that you can eat what ever you want as long as it is healthy."

Hermione looked at the dubious concoction of butter and salt. "I think I'm going to burn that book," she said.

"Don't you dare, Madam Mimsby is the only guide we have."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Lavender had decided to become an encyclopedia of pregnancy and was constantly sprouting quotations from Madam Mimsby's authoritative guide "Bringing up Wizards." She was a little disconcerted that no one else seemed interested in reading it and finding out just what to expect. She had even contemplated going to Severus and asking him to read it as Hermione seemed to be hiding her head in the sand.

"Do you want help with Herbology?" Hermione asked, pointing her fork at the book in Lavender's hand.

"No, I'm fine, you just relax there." Lavender disappeared again, ducking behind her books and trying to absorb herself again in study.

Hermione returned to her potatoes and tried to find where she was with her thoughts. Lucius Malfoy. She shook her head to remove him, but that seemed only to conjure up just how she was going to tell her parents. She didn't know why she was so fearful of the task. Her parents had never shown her anything but support and her logic told her that this situation would prove no exception – but deep down there was a nagging doubt. She feared that they would be disappointed with her choices. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to relax.

Hermione had spent most of her day down in the dungeons lying in bed and studying, and she was glad that she'd had the chance to do so. Severus was down in Hogsmeade with Minerva having dinner and Hermione was content to spend her evenings in the common room, but she found she could not study here; it was as though the desperation and fear of everyone else was contagious and she couldn't concentrate on her books. She liked sitting in her favourite chair staring out the window and found that Lavender was good company, even when she wasn't talking.

Harry was another matter. Harry had not been good company for anyone for the last four weeks. Hermione knew he was in the common room well before he said anything; she'd recognise the sound of his dragging feet anywhere.

Harry dumped half a dozen books onto the table beside Lavender's pile before dislodging Hermione's feet from the window sill and hoisting himself onto it. For the briefest of seconds Hermione panicked, thinking that he was about to hurl himself out into the abyss and she wondered just how fast she could get her wand out to slow his fall. But Harry did not jump; he sat down on the sill and faced her, looking utterly miserable.

"You really need to shave," Hermione told him and lifted her foot into his lap. He absently began to massage the foot, as though he didn't even know that he was doing the task. "Where have you been?" she asked, trying to drawn him out.

"The Library," Harry sniffled. He had been fighting a low grade cold for at least two weeks and Hermione wished he would go to Madam Pomfrey and get something for it. The fact was that he probably just needed some bed rest.

"All day?" Hermione asked, knowing he hadn't been in the library at all that day, or at least not during the actual day light hours.

"No," Harry admitted, "I spent most of the day sitting on Draco's doorstep hoping he'd let me in."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione set her potatoes aside again, realising that she was not going to get to eat them.

"I went to the hospital," Harry continued, "and he'd discharged himself, so I went to the manor and the House Elf wouldn't let me in."

"So you sat there?"

"Yep."

"Harry…" Hermione hesitated and had to set her face into a determined look before continuing, "Harry, if he doesn't want to see you…then perhaps you should leave him alone."

Harry dropped her foot. "What? Just like that? Just give up?"

"Well, _no_ not give up as such, but maybe you need to give him time…"

"It's been a month!"

"Yes, and for most of that time he was in a coma at the hospital, he only woke up a week ago and he needs time to digest just what happened to him. He's been through hell, Harry."

Lavender appeared over her books again. "If I'd been kidnapped, raped and almost died, it would take me more than a month to get over it," she said.

"Well I wasn't talking to you," Harry spat.

"Don't take your guilt out on me…"

Harry rocked dangerously on the window sill and once again Hermione thought he would fall out.

"Lavender is right," Hermione said as calmly as she could, "you have to think about what Draco has been through."

"I know what he's been through," Harry said viciously, "I saw him, remember?"

"I know Harry, calm down, please. I'm not saying that you should give up on him; all I'm saying is that you need to be more sensitive to him. He's been through something so… _awful._ "

"He _blames_ me," Harry said, "he blames me, he thinks that I abandoned him. I have to see him so I can tell him…"

"Harry, he probably doesn't know what he thinks at the moment, if you just give him time to work everything out in his head I sure he'll understand what happened."

"He hates me," Harry said miserably and leaned back dangerously against the window frame.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She wished he would get down off the sill. She said nothing. She knew that she could argue with him but she also knew that arguing with Harry when he was in a self pitying mood was useless. And Harry was in mood. He had gone to St Mungo's every day while Draco was asleep and had sat there beside him, and then one day he had arrived to find a medi-wizard at the door who would not let him pass. Draco had woken and he did to want to see Harry Potter.

"I don't believe he discharged himself," Harry muttered.

Hermione chewed her lip and looked away. He wasn't suicidal, she knew that, but he could fall out that window, he really could.

"You knew!" Harry said suddenly and he tried to catch her eye. "You knew he discharged himself, didn't you?"

Harry sighed and rubbed her belly. "He…yes, I knew. I'm not supposed to tell you this…"

"What? Why not? What aren't you supposed to tell me?"

"Calm down, Harry! He told Severus not to tell anyone."

"Well Snape obviously told you!"

"Severus tells me everything," Hermione said simply.

Harry looked slightly disgusted. "And you kept it from me?"

"Harry…oh for pity's sake could you please get down from there?"

Lavender stuck her wand over the top of her books and the windows slammed shut behind Harry's back and locked themselves securely.

"Thanks Lav," Hermione said with some relief.

"Not a problem."

Harry snorted impatiently. "Tell me what's going on with Draco!"

"There's no need to yell across the room," Hermione hissed.

Lavender pushed the books aside and glared at them both. "Look, perhaps you should go to Harry's room, or our room, or someone's room, but can you stop arguing about this here? I'm fairly certain that Draco doesn't want me to know about what's going on and I'm positive he doesn't need the rest of the year to know as well."

Hermione could scarce believe that Lavender was turning down some first rate gossip, but she could not deny that her roommate was right. She pushed herself up out of the arm chair and grabbed Harry's wrist so that she could drag him to his room. It wasn't until she had closed the door behind her that she thought that she may be in some trouble with him. Harry looked as though he would shake the information out of her if she didn't impart it soon, and for a moment she considered reminding him that she was pregnant.

But he did not shake her. Instead Harry sank onto his bed and looked thoroughly distressed. "Please," he said, "just tell me what's going on. I'm tired of being kept in the dark. I'll give him time, space, whatever he wants, but I need to know what is happening to him."

Hermione sat beside him and gently rubbed his back. "Alright, well…" She drew breath and smiled, hoping that she was doing the right thing. "That man, the Curator…"

"Archibald Semeuse," Harry said. He had memorised the name, hoping one day to find a ritual that would lock the bastards' soul in the very depths of hell.

"Archibald Semeuse," Hermione repeated and felt a little disgusted just by saying it, "when he had Draco he gave him a potion to paralyse him so that he couldn't struggle when he…" she flushed uncomfortably, "well, you know what he did. But this potion was old and Severus thinks that it was probably badly made and it has had some side effects."

"What kind of side effects?"

"I'm not sure about all of them, but I know he can't Apparate. Severus says that it is probably temporary."

"How do you know he can't Apparate?"

Hermione chewed hard on her lip. "Because he contacted Severus last night and asked him to go to the hospital to get him and take him home."

Harry's mouth fell open. "You knew since last night? You knew and you didn't tell me? You knew I'd go to the hospital!"

"I know, but by the time I got up you were already gone and Severus told me not to say anything! Severus stayed there last night. He came back this morning and he said that Draco was fine and that we shouldn't worry."

"Would he take me there?"

"Pardon?"

"Would Snape take me to see Draco?"

"Why…what difference would it make if Severus takes you?"

"He might see me if Snape was there."

"Harry, Severus won't take you anywhere."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't like you." Hermione said bluntly.

"And there I was thinking we were bonding," Harry retorted sarcastically.

Hermione stared at him and a strange smile spread across her face.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just that was a very Draco thing to say."

"I need him," Harry said urgently, "I need him to come back."

"I know," Hermione began to rub his back again, "and he will, I'm sure of it, but tread softly, Harry. If you push him you never know what will happen."

Harry was about to reply but was interrupted by a tiny mewing and Draco's little cat marched out from beneath the bed and stared up at them both. "I have to feed Miss Kitty," Harry murmured and reached down to pick the cat up.

"I guess you'll have to see him," Hermione pointed out mischievously.

"What do you mean?"

"Severus says Draco wants his cat back."

Harry coughed up a smile and tipped his head on to Hermione's shoulder. "I really fucked up, didn't I?"

Hermione nodded, "yes honey, you really fucked up."

"But he wants his cat back?"

"He wants his cat back," Hermione confirmed. When Harry stifled a yawn she gently stroked the side of his neck. "You need to sleep, Harry."

"I can't, I have to study."

"You're not going to take anything else in tonight, you're too tired. Just go to bed, you have to sleep."

Harry reluctantly agreed. He felt pretty rotten and he knew that he looked pretty rotten. And if Draco wanted Miss Kitty back, perhaps Harry could be the one to return her.

********

"I really don't understand that school." Molly Weasley scowled as she prepared two cake tins. "They teach you all this glorious magic and yet they neglect something as simple as basic home economics. Honestly, how do they expect you to live by yourselves? How you got on last summer I don't know…"

"You should have words with Dumbledore mum," Ron said, needling her a little as he swiped a finger through Pansy's cake batter. Upon putting it in his mouth however he instantly regretted it. Pansy's batter was decidedly thick and it didn't taste particularly good.

Pansy saw the look on his face and took in the vast difference between her batter and Molly's with some distress.

"I will have words with Dumbledore," Molly continued, deciding not to notice the grin on her sons face. "It's disgusting, just sending you out in the world with no clue about how to look after yourselves!"

"But we can kill a Dark Lord at ten paces," Ron pointed out.

Molly found herself smiling in spite of herself and then set about rousing on Pansy's batter to recover. "No Pansy, Dear, you need to have more of a flourish in your wand before you pour the batter…"

"And add more sugar," Ron suggested.

Molly glared at her son. "It wouldn't hurt you to learn this too Ronald Weasley. After we finish baking we are going to move on to meats – and if you're not careful I will only teach Pansy to prepare corned beef and you will be stuck with it for the rest of your life."

Ron quietened down. He and Pansy had been living on greasy fish and chips and Indian food and they had both become desperate for a home cooked meal. Pansy had been the one to suggest extending the olive branch and asking Molly for help. Molly had moved herself into Grimmauld Place three days before and Ron secretly believed that his mother was glad to be needed. She had become secluded at the Burrow, more so since his father had been voted Minister of Magic. Whilst Arthur had to wait until July to take office, there was plenty that needed to be done in preparation and Arthur had taken a flat in the city, one that Molly was loath to move into. She had taken to teaching her son and his girlfriend how to keep house like a duck takes to water.

And by the look of things, Ron and Pansy desperately needed help. Hermione wasn't going to be moving in during the summer. Two House Elves, both seemingly named Melville, had arrived to pack up Hermione's room and take everything to Wilshire. Molly had any number of things to say on that particular turn of events, but many of them did not need repeating. No one really knew what was going to happen with Harry. He had arrived two weeks before and had cried (quite literally) on Ron's shoulder. Pansy had been one of the few people that Draco had allowed in to see him and she confirmed that he was not happy, but there was some sense of romantic to her and she confided to Ron that she expected Draco and Harry to work it out. Which left Ron in an awkward position. If Harry was to live with Draco, what happened to Ron? How could he live in Harry's house without Harry? It was an issue he felt he had to address and Harry had agreed that it was best that Ron live at Grimmauld Place indefinitely, regardless of whether Harry was there or not. He then proceeded to question Ron mercilessly about why Pansy thought Draco would forgive him.

And so, if they were to live here by themselves they had to learn to look after themselves. Molly Weasley was just the person to teach them how, but she felt that she had been neglectful during Ron's upbringing. She had taught Ginny how to do everything and had left the boys to their own devices. She arrived at Grimmauld Place with a small library of books on household charms and cooking spells and she was eager to pass on her wealth of knowledge to her two more than willing students. It had probably been three of the most enjoyable days that she had spent with her youngest son.

Pansy was looking at her batter and prodding it dubiously with her wand. "I don't know if I should cook this," she said softly.

"It kinda looks like something Hagrid would have made rock cakes out of," Ron observed and then grimaced, "sorry…honey."

Pansy flushed and Molly inspected the bowl. "It isn't all that bad," Molly said gently, "for a first try…but perhaps we should throw this out and start again."

Pansy tried a miserable smile.

"Oh don't worry dear, the first cake I ever made caused my brother to lose a tooth. At least you are trying – unlike Ronald there."

Ron frowned.

"Your father is arranging for you to get a job at the Ministry," Molly told her son with a passing casualness that Ron found astounding.

"A job?" He asked, "At the Ministry? Isn't that nepotism?"

Molly, who had no idea what nepotism actually meant, simply continued as though he'd said nothing. "It isn't anything special, Ron. It's a position in his old department. It's a good place to start and it will help feed and clothe you both. Pansy has the money in her Gringotts vault, but you can't expect to live off that forever – and Draco Malfoy shouldn't have to keep the pair of you."

Pansy looked utterly confused. "I…I don't have any money in my Gringotts vault. Draco isn't paying us…"

Molly swore silently and turned to face them both. "Draco insists on sending money to Arthur and I for Pansy's upkeep. We won't accept it and Draco won't take it back so Arthur has been depositing the money into Pansy's vault. But as I said, you can't expect to live on the Malfoy payroll." Molly shook her head, "you want to work, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Ron was still reeling from the news that Draco Malfoy had been sending money to his parents, "I just never expected to go into the Ministry. It's so… _Percy_."

Molly winced.

"Sorry mum."

"No, it's true, it is very like Percy." Molly placed a fresh bowl in front of Pansy. "But unlike Percy, you are not foolishly ambitious and as far as I know you are not ashamed of your family. You have responsibilities now, Ron. You are very lucky. You have this house to live in and friends who will never abandon you, but you cannot lean on them for your entire life! You chose to come here and to bring Pansy with you; you must take care of yourselves."

"I know. I know mum. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, I'm not. I'll go and see dad tomorrow…to thank him."

Molly stopped and stepped back from the bench. She walked around Pansy to the place Ron had perched himself and kissed him firmly on the cheek. "I love you, you know that don't you?"

"Of course I do," Ron grinned, "I love you too."

"Those things…those things I said to you in that letter…"

"Don't mum, I don't want to talk about that."

"I didn't mean them…and at the Burrow…"

"Mum, it's alright. I know you didn't. It's over now, it's finished. Angelina is in prison and it's over."

"If George had his way she'd be out," Molly said and as she formed the words she found herself filled with dread. "He says she needs a hospital, not prison."

Ron had heard about George's opinion before. Fred had told him one day over lunch in Diagon Alley. He hadn't said anything about it, but now that the subject had been raised he decided to deal with it in the way he now realised his mother preferred, direct and to the point. "I think George is right," he said and waited for what was to come.

"What? By her own admission that…woman…killed Charlie! She almost killed you! She is clearly insane and needs to be kept away from the world!"

"Exactly. She's insane. Being stuck in Azkaban and being surrounded by Dementors can't be helping that. She needs help mum."

Molly shook her head in disgust. "I think it's you and George who need help."

"What does dad think?"

Molly paused. "Your father…" she sighed, "your father is trying to keep an open mind. But you have to realise, he lost one son to this girl, he almost lost another…"

Ron nodded. He couldn't really think of anything more to say about Angelina. Part of him wanted to save her and yet another wanted her to sink so deep into the depths of Azkaban that she would never claw her way out. He looked to Pansy who was getting herself a drink. It was an odd twist that meant he owed Angelina for Pansy.

Molly seemed to snap back to herself, shaking the momentary melancholy off as quickly as she could. "Look, why don't I just cook this and we can get back to the lessons tomorrow?"

Pansy came back to the table looking relieved, more so when Molly gave her an affectionate hug.

"I asked Fred and George to come for dinner," Molly continued, "they'll be here soon."

"Fred's coming here?" Ron asked, swiping his finger through his mothers' cake batter.

"I know he's in everyone's bad books at the moment, but he is your brother, Ron."

"I know, I just don't know how Harry would feel about him being in his house."

"Does Harry hate Fred?" Pansy asked.

"No…I don't think so," Ron grinned helplessly, "but I know Fred's not one of his favourite people at the moment."

"Do you want me to tell them not to come?" Molly asked.

"No, it's fine. What are we having?"

"Nothing fancy, just chops and vegetables and we can have the cake for dessert."

"I can help," Pansy said brightly, "I can help with dinner."

Molly and Ron stared at her hopeful face and smiled in spite of their doubts. She had to learn some time.

*********

The black carriage that trundled into the underground Hogwarts stables was simple in design with no real ornaments, but it exuded wealth none the less. Carriages were used almost exclusively by pure blood wizards. They loaned a certain elegance that a Portkey could not provide and until the Ministry lifted its ban on flying carpets they were the most convenient mode of transport for the wealthy wizard family with children too young to Apparate. The craftsmanship of the carriage was impeccable. The interior was bedecked in dark polished leather, doted with heavy studs and overstuffed to make it comfortable.

The wizard who emerged from the interior was as impeccable as his ride. He was tall and slender; his robes were light weight wool that moved almost fluidly with each turn of his body. He wore no Muggle attire and he did not bother with a hood. The robes were high collared and conservative, robes timeless to his kind and made him look almost ghostlike. His face was flawless, slightly too pointed and yet he was exactly what everyone expected him to be. Beautiful still. His grey eyes were clear and cold, his blonde hair seemed to glow in the gloom. Beneath the calm exterior Draco Malfoy was wondering why he had bothered coming back. He stood perfectly still while Non secured the carriage and when the House Elf had finished his task, Draco walked towards the stairs with the little creature in tow.

Snape was waiting for him and he knew that he would be. Neither bothered with so much as a perfunctory nod. Draco simply reached the top of the stairs and continued his pace down the hall; Snape fell in step beside him and they walked in silence for a while before Draco felt any need to speak.

"Is my father well?" Draco asked at last. More from a sense of obligation than any real desire to know about his father's welfare. He was sure that Lucius had been well looked after. They were all fascinated by him, a wizard who had cheated the Dementors kiss. It was a shame Lucius had not had the same kind of forethought before following Voldemort.

"He's fine," Snape replied, "better now that he knows you are well."

Draco would dispute the idea that he was well. "Can he walk yet?"

"He's getting there."

"He'd get better faster if he was at home."

"That's impossible and you know it."

Draco ground his teeth and hardened his jaw. "I don't see why he can't come home. He has no powers now – thanks to you. He can't hurt anyone."

"The Ministry are not going to let him just pack up and go home, they want to see him punished." Snape stopped; he had been through this too many times in the space of a day. Draco was just unwilling to accept it. Lucius himself was far more reasonable. He was quite willing to go to Azkaban, especially since Arthur Weasley would be removing the Dementors in a matter of weeks. The problem was that Arthur Weasley was not deciding on his punishment. Cornelius Fudge was hurriedly making judgements in his final week of power, each one aimed at the people he considered instrumental in his fall. This one was directed at Weasley himself. Lucius Malfoy was being sent in to exile for ten years. There was no indication as to who would be guarding him but Snape was no fool. Neither were Weasley or Lucius. Fudge did not want Lucius Malfoy alive and for some reason he thought it was a subject close to Weasley's heart; Snape was willing to bet that Lucius would arrive at wherever Fudge was sending him to find Alastor Moody waiting at the door.

Draco knew this too. He picked at a piece of lint on his sleeve with some disdain before saying; "Don't you think he's been punished? Don't you think eight months as Archibald Semeuse's own private dolly was a punishment?"

"You know I do."

"Then why didn't you try harder?"

"I am not going to argue with you about this, Draco. Your father made his own choices…"

"Oh?" Draco stopped and swung around to confront his godfather. "He chose to be in this exhibition? He chose to be fucked over and over again by a maniac who thought they were meant to be together forever?"

"No, but he did choose to follow Voldemort, he did choose to be an arrogant prick who decided that he and his friends were the only ones worthy enough to be gifted and he was blind enough not to realise that excluding all but pure bloods from our gene pool was going to make for a very extinct race of magical people! He chose to be wilfully ignorant and not to use that magnificent brain of his to actually think about the future or consider the facts of our kind and because of these decisions he ended up in this situation, so don't you stand there and tell me that I should have tried harder! He should never have been so fucking stupid!"

For a moment Snape feared that Draco Malfoy was about to start crying and the very prospect filled him with dread. Dealing with an emotional and pregnant Hermione was forgivable; dealing with a blubbing godson was not part of his plan this evening. He need not have worried. Draco's grey eyes narrowed spitefully and the boy almost growled. "You don't think I know all of those things?" he asked in a voice so cold it was chilling, "I know exactly what my father did and just how pathetically stupid he was. If I had him at home I'd lock him in the attic and never let the miserable Squib come down the stairs. It was his choices that did this to me, I won't ever forget that, so don't fret Uncle Severus, I won't accuse you of laziness again."

The change in him astounded Snape. One moment he was fighting for the freedom of his father and the next he was as icy as an arctic wind.

"We are concerned about this exile however," Snape admitted, testing Draco a little. "Fudge has decided that this would be a good way to get back at Arthur Weasley, we are afraid that he'll put Moody in charge of your father's care."

"Well, let us hope that he makes a quick job of it," Draco said briskly as he quickened his pace, "and I'll get my inheritance that little bit faster."

Snape didn't move for a moment, stayed into stillness by the comment and he watched as Draco strode off into the shadows of the corridor. A dark frown crossed his face and slowly he followed his godson into the castle.

*******  
"You look good."

Draco scowled at the statement and stared at his father. Lucius looked good too; it seemed almost sinful that in the space of a few short weeks his father could be walking around with a body that was filling out rapidly. Madam Pomfrey's muscle booster certainly worked miracles.

"Thank you," Lucius said hesitantly, "for your blood. As you can see, it worked wonders."

"Well, I was unconscious so I didn't have much say in the matter."

Lucius sighed and pressed on. "Severus' young lady actually brewed the potion, she's very talented."

"She's a Mudblood. Did you know that?"

"I…"

"Do you want the potion in you now? Now that you know she's a Mudblood?"

"I am very grateful for her talents," Lucius said diplomatically.

"If you had your way, she'd have been dead and then where would you be?"

Lucius' gaze shifted from his son to Severus and he smiled tightly. Severus raised an eyebrow and sat himself in a chair by the window, fairly eager to ignore the exchange going on in front of him.

"How do you feel?" Lucius asked. He did not make a move towards his son, as he was fairly certain that if he did he would be repelled quickly. He was not as strong as he looked and his own walking was inhibited by the use of a cane. He was feeling the effects of his loss of magic keenly; it was like having a low grade fever, and he felt terribly cold. He wanted to hold his son but his son was evidently not interested in being held.

"How do you think I feel?" Draco asked coldly. He hadn't moved out of the doorway and Non had not moved either, although the little elf was elated to see Lucius up and about.

"I would think that you feel abused and betrayed. I also think you are hating me, but I don't think it would take much intuition to see that."

"And why would I hate you?"

"Because you blame me for what he did to you," Lucius said, "and perhaps you are justified. But I would never have wanted that for you, I wanted to protect you...but I couldn't. I'm so sorry for that."

"Yes, well," Draco said briskly as he walked through the room to the window, "we can add that to the manifold other things you failed to do." He looked out of the window and could see the darkening Quidditch pitch below. No one was playing out there. The Quidditch cup had already been won, although by what house, Draco had no idea. He half expected to see Harry flying around as he had when he was younger, but on the night before exams started he knew where Harry Potter would be – or at least where he should be. Studying in the common room. He certainly should not have spent the day sitting on Draco Malfoy's doorstep, which he had and Draco knew it. Leaving the house had proved difficult as he had to wait for Harry to give up and leave.

And of course Harry had given up eventually, although Draco could hardly blame him for that.

Harry was another problem that Draco would have to face, but there was plenty of time for that tomorrow.

"Are you staying for exams?" Lucius asked.

"Yes."

"Good, it would behove you to do well."

Draco turned to him and sneered. "Don't come over all fatherly on me now, Lucius, I think we can dispense with it."

"Regardless of your current mood, Draco, I am still your father and I will show some concern over your choices."

"Choices? _My_ choices? What about your choices and their results? I think uncle Severus summed them up pretty well in the corridor. What say you Uncle Severus, may I repeat the whole 'Lucius' choices' speech or will you fill him in later?"

"Stop it, Draco," Severus said again. He was tired of this. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed. He was supposed to be in Hogsmeade with Minerva who was thoroughly disgruntled with the sudden change of plan and had to take Dumbledore to dinner instead. Inside the darkness of his mind he even considered sending Hermione to stay in her room with Lavender to sleep so that he could be alone for the first time in weeks.

Lucius ignored them both and continued on with speaking to his son. If he was to die – and he had an idea that he probably would – he had every intention now in ensuring Draco was well established for the future. "I have arranged with Arthur Weasley to have your inheritance passed on to you now. The Manor and the family fortune are yours."

This took Draco by surprise, he had always been sure that the Malfoy fortune would have to be prised from Lucius' dead hands.

"I want you to be happy, Draco."

"Well, you should have thought of that before you went running off to start a war, shouldn't you?"

"This hatred is a recent thing, Draco. It's because you've been hurt in a way that you can't understand. It is more than a physical pain or sickness. It is something that is all consuming and you have no control over it. You can't block it out and you can't make it go away. The glorious thing about our medicines is that we can cure almost any physical malady…but our minds are as fragile as any Muggles and you feel the pain there. That is why you are hating everyone around you. Semeuse is dead and so you have to take it out on everyone who loves you. I understand that. I will always understand that."

"Why…" Draco swallowed hard and blinked a few times to clear his eyes as he looked out the window and the Quidditch pitch blurred into a salty haze. "Why couldn't they just make me forget?"

"Because to do so can damage you mind beyond repair. You'll end up like the Longbottom boy, forgetful and bumbling. You couldn't stand that, could you?"

"It would be better than this," Draco rasped. He strode back to the door, not raising his face to his father.

"It will pass, Draco. Like any pain, it will diminish."

"And I'll forget it?" Draco sneered harshly.

"No, you'll never forget it. But you survived, Draco, and you must go on and live your life. You can hate me to the day you die if it helps, Draco, but you must learn to live your life with some kind of peace."

"And how do you suggest I accomplish that?"

"You could draw strength from the people who love you."

"How very herbal of you father," Draco drawled.

"What about Harry?" Lucius asked, pressing on in the way that he always did where Draco was concerned.

"What about him?" Draco bit out, glad of the moment to recover himself. "Harry made his choice."

"And what choice was that?" Lucius asked, "He slipped up, he kissed the wrong person at the wrong time. Yes, he told me all about what happened. I've had quite a chat with young Mr. Potter. It never meant anything to him; he was coming home to you."

"Then it was too little too late."

"He came for you, Draco."

Draco scowled and made for the door. He'd heard enough. He wanted to see his father one last time and now he had done so. There was nothing left to do but go and do what everyone else had no doubt done that evening – study.

Lucius knew Draco was leaving; he didn't try to stop him. "Goodbye, Draco."

Draco didn't answer. He left the room without a backward glance.

*******

"I ate too much," Pansy groaned as she climbed into bed. She had showered and her face was pink from being scrubbed. She smelled like a combination of toothpaste and lye soap, her slightly damp hair was starting to curl a little as it dried. "I feel really heavy and bloated."

"You don't look heavy and bloated," Ron said dutifully. He was feeling much the same way. One thing he could say for his mother, she loved to over feed, especially when she felt that she owed someone something. Not that Ron thought Molly particularly owed him anything.

He looked at the window and wished he could open it. The summer was getting hot at night and the room had a habit of becoming stuffy, but it was Sunday night and all the garbage in the street gave off a terrible smell which was only exacerbated by the heat. He slid into bed beside her and pulled the light coverings over them both.

He extinguished the lights and found her mouth almost immediately. It seemed to have become a natural progression for them both now; climb into bed and start kissing. They had not made love yet, but kissing they had down to a fine art. He found her wet, lush and willing as she moved beneath him. Her body was always so full of promise, the untold secrets that she hid during the day opened up for him at night as his hands slid over the light cotton of her nightgown. They had not perfected speaking in bed, they never seemed to talk there, kissing seemed so much more important when they were alone and so close.

He lapped at her mouth, enjoying the taste of toothpaste and saliva mingling with the softness of her lips and tongue. His hand slid over her soft breast and wonderfully hard nipple and he moaned.

"You feel incredible," he whispered huskily.

"I…" she moaned softly as Ron slid between her legs and she felt his erection press hard into her thigh.

"We should stop," he panted. He knew that to continue would take him beyond simply wanting her and into needing her. He had to stop while he was still able.

"We don't have to," she whispered and a tremble ran through her frame, "we don't have to stop."

He pulled back from her and tried to see her face in the dark. "If I don't stop I might do something you don't want," he said slowly, ashamed to admit that he might not be able to control himself.

"I…I want you," she said shyly, "I want to…make love to you."

Ron felt his stomach roll. His only real sexual experience had been with Angelina, and he would hardly call that love making. It had bordered on abuse. And he feared for what it would be like for Pansy. What if he hurt her? What if he was no better than Angelina? Doubts that had plagued him for weeks suddenly surfaced with tremendous force, but she reached over to the side table and her wand and with a whisper hundreds of tiny tea lights lit up around the room and she lay back, resting her head on his arm.

"I want this," she told him gently, "I want to feel what it's like to have someone I love show me what it's like…and I think you want that too…don't you?"

By way of response he kissed her, stroking her breasts again through the fabric of her nightgown and then he began unbuttoning the front so that he could open it out and reveal her and he could stroke every inch of her smooth skin. Pansy smiled up at him and then reached for his hand to kiss it, running her tongue over his palms and finger and then he placed it more firmly on her breasts while she used her own hands to explore the hardness of his chest. He moved so that he could pull his pyjama shirt over his head and wriggle out of his pants. She watched as his body was revealed to her, knowing that she had waited for this moment and she wanted to enjoy every feeling and appreciate the excitement that he created inside her.

The touch of their skin together brought their touching closer to lovemaking than they had ever been before. Their nakedness was now as thrilling as their first kisses had been and the feeling of her creamy soft skin pressed against his firmness was bringing him closer to the edge. This naked coupling represented an achievement for both of them; it signified a loss of fear and they relished the differences in the feel of their bodies.

Ron longed to enter Pansy but he fought his body's pull to her, but it was becoming harder to do. As they moved towards each other it was becoming harder and harder to pull away again. They kept their eyes fixed on each others faces, both unable to believe how close they were to each other nor how good it felt to let their hands wander. When finally they could move their gaze they both found themselves looking at Ron's hard penis pointing its swollen head into the dark hair that grew lush between her legs.

Stroking Pansy's pale breasts, Ron leaned forward and kissed each pink nipple, sucking at them, relishing each with his tongue and his hand moved down her stomach and with tentative fingers he found the wet warmth that she was offering him.

Pansy lay back as he moved then, she felt her breath catch as he kissed his way down her body, his tongue darting out to taste her flesh, his hands caressing the softness of her belly. He bent his face between her legs then, flicking his tongue into the wetness, probing the moist opening of her vagina to taste her and then using his fingers to open her further and lap deeper inside. His fingers brushed gently over the hard pearl of her clitoris and she gasped at the intimacy of it, and when the excitement grew too much she pulled him back up to her, holding on to his hard shoulders and telling him that she loved him in a voice that was close to delirium.

She slithered from his gasp, wanting to taste him as he had tasted her. She longed to explore him and she covered him with kisses, starting at his soft mouth and progressing over his slightly stubbled chin and down his throat. His chest was beaded with clean sweat and she nipped at his small nipples, fascinated at how they hardened so very like her own. He sat back on his haunches and allowed her this exploration, knowing that she had to do this, that she needed to discover the man she was with and know what she was taking into her body.

She crouched down between his legs and held his hard penis in her hands, and looked up at him. "You're bigger than I thought you'd be," she said quietly.

"It's alright," he said, "we can take this as slow as you want."

She smiled and returned her attentions to the penis in her hands. She bent her head down to trace the underside of it with her tongue, working towards the head which she hesitantly wet with her mouth. She heard Ron groan as she took as much of it into her mouth as she could, being careful of her teeth, knowing that she had to take care with him. She pulled her mouth back and once again traced her tongue down the length of him, wanting now to taste the soft bag of testicles that hung below.

He knew that he couldn't hold this and he raised her gently, telling her that she had to stop doing that if she didn't want him to come so fast. She lay back in the bed and drew him down to her, telling him to be gentle, begging him not to hurt her.

Ron held her tightly to his chest and promised her that he would never harm her and that she was safe with him. She believed him and she gasped as she opened for him. Lubricated by her saliva and excitement, Ron made the first move to inch himself inside her, showing her that if they worked slowly she could accommodate his size inside her body.

In his mind he was wishing that it was he who had taken her virginity and not three men who did not know her and did not care, but now as she held him between her legs and was gasping at her first sexual feelings, he knew that it no longer mattered. He was the first man to love her, if he had his way he would be the last man to ever love her and that was all that was important. He was astonished at the feelings it created, loving someone and having them love you in return and when he looked at her she laughed in amazement, mesmerized by the way fate had brought them together in such a wonderful and perfect way.

*******

Harry's eyes opened and closed and he groaned. There was a weight, heavy and leaden, in the very pit of his belly. He knew what it was. Miss Kitty, curled up and fast asleep. He couldn't believe such a small thing could be so heavy, but she was pressing down hard on his bladder and his entire body felt strangely sore. Probably the result of sleeping in one position for far too long.

And his bladder, where she was sleeping, felt horribly full.

He groaned again and tried to move the cat. She woke, stood on his stomach and stretched, almost causing him to wet himself as her back feet pressed down hard into his groin.

"Shit! Move!" He pushed the cat off him and she hissed as he sat up. He had no idea what time it was but he decided that it must be late. He felt as though he had been asleep fort a long time, and there was no light creeping into his room from under the door and that was a sure sign that the common room was empty and that everyone had retired to bed – to try and get some sleep before exams started the next day.

He wished he was still sleeping. He'd had precious little of it since that night at the Museum and he was sure that it was sheer exhaustion that had allowed him whatever he had just managed to get.

He needed to pee and he swung his legs out of the bed – almost treading on Miss Kitty – and headed out his bedroom door.

As he had predicted, the common room was dark and empty. There was a chill in the air that rooms tended to get when devoid of people for a period of time so he figured that it must be very late. Harry padded across the room to the bathroom and yawned as he walked automatically to the trough to relieve himself.

He was wearing an old pair of cotton pyjama bottoms, Dudley's hand me downs that had a hole in the bottom and whose elastic was about to give in, but Harry didn't really care about that – he was still half asleep, all he could think about was getting back to bed. He finished peeing and shoved his cock back into his pants without shaking particularly well. He didn't rightly care about the drops of urine that soaked the front of his pants, they would dry by morning, he didn't even think about it.

He left the bathroom and started back across the common room, just in time to see Miss Kitty make a break from his room and streak across the room towards the corridor that lead to her old home.

Draco's bedroom.

"Fuck!" Miss Kitty!" Harry hissed in a harsh whisper, "Come back! Puss Puss Puss!"

Miss Kitty ignored him and the little tabby turned into the darkness of the short corridor, her skinny little tail in the air and Harry was almost certain that she was mooning him in defiance.

"Miss Kitty!" Harry's sharp whisper became strained, "come back here you stupid cat, he's not down there!"

But still she did not appear and Harry was forced to go down the corridor after her. He hadn't been in Draco's room since he had gone to get Miss Kitty. It hurt to be in there, looking at all of Draco's things. Harry could even smell Draco there. He could not look at the bed without remembering the nights he had spent there, warm in Draco's arms or wrapped around his body. He did not want to go down there now to chase the little cat, but he also knew that he would get no more sleep if Miss Kitty was running around the common room and making a nuisance of herself.

"Miss Kitty! Come here…puss puss puss! Come here! I don't want to be chasing you all over the fucking castle!"

The corridor was dark and he didn't have his wand (he could almost hear Alastor Moody screaming "constant vigilance!" in his ear) and he tried a lumos charm anyway. He was surprised when a dim light illuminated the narrow hall. He almost smiled, except that Miss Kitty was leaping at the door latch like a crazy animal and on the third attempt she caught it and the door opened – just a crack.

"Oh Miss Kitty, you fucking pain in the fucking arse, come back here!"

Once again Miss Kitty performed her tail in the air mooning action and slinked inside.

Shit.

Harry rolled his eyes and almost stamped his foot in frustration. He followed her.

"Miss Kitty," he wasn't bothering to whisper now, there was no one to wake up down here, "he's not here you stupid fucking cat…"

The balcony door was open. _Oh Gods, don't let her go over the balcony._

"Miss Kitty…come here puss."

He stepped into the doorway of the balcony and hoped that he could grab the cat before she jumped.

He stopped and his breath caught. Draco turned around to face him, blowing smoke from the opium cigarette he was smoking..

Harry's mouth worked open and closed and he was suddenly aware of what he looked like in Dudley's old pyjama pants with piss all over the front. He wished that he had at least washed his hands. He tried to speak but found he couldn't. He didn't know what to say.

"What's wrong Potter? My "stupid fucking cat" got your tongue?"

"You…you're here."

Draco glared at him as though it was patently obvious while Miss Kitty rubbed herself happily around his ankles.

"I didn't think you were here. You went home…you were sick…"

"There are exams to be sat, Potter. What did you think I would do, slink home and never come back?"

"I…you came for exams?"

"I just said that didn't I?"

Harry felt his body give way; he wanted to throw himself on Draco and hug him with relief. "How are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Harry looked at him, trying to see through the cold tone to see what he was feeling. He wanted to touch him, hold him and love him. In the moonlight he seemed to shine. He was so pale, his hair almost glowed. He was wearing robes, good ones, with a high neck. His skin was as clear as it ever was and in the grey eyes Harry thought he could see something other than the coldness Draco was showing him.

"I missed you," Harry whispered.

Draco said nothing.

"What you saw," Harry said desperately, "what you saw that night…it wasn't real…I was coming back, but Fred…he wouldn't let me go…" He looked at Draco's impassive face, "that kiss was nothing…it meant nothing. I only did it so I could come back to you. I didn't know you were there…"

"It doesn't matter," Draco said emotionlessly as he flicked his cigarette over the balcony, "you can do whatever you want."

"I'm so sorry…baby, I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter," Draco said again.

"I love you."

Draco pushed hard past him and went into his room to light the gas lamps.

"I went to your house…you…the House Elf wouldn't let me in."

"Remind me to commend Rosie for her fortitude."

Harry looked at him, wondering if the façade would crack at all. "I wanted to talk to you. I want to explain."

"Explain what? That you were coming back, Fred Weasley wouldn't let you leave, you had to kiss him, it meant nothing?" Draco yawned as though he was bored.

"I'm so sorry."

"Good," Draco snapped. He picked up a leather bound box from the floor beside his bag and then placed it on the bed. Inside he had several bottles of what looked to Harry like alcohol and Harry looked at them, utterly incredulous. He had just gotten out of the hospital and he was going to get drunk? What time was it?

"Do you think you really need that?" Harry asked, knowing that he probably shouldn't say anything.

Draco laughed bitterly. "What do you think it is?" he asked with a sneer, "Whisky? Gin? A bit of nettle wine to calm my nerves? Oh no, Potter, these are medicines. Lovely bottles of medicines to add to my ever growing list of shit that I need to keep myself going on a daily basis. Aren't they pretty? This purple one here stops me from having fits brought on by the out of date potion that Mr. Semeuse poured down my throat. And this brown one here is very nice, it tastes a little like distilled sweat, but it knits muscle and tissue back together – that would be the muscles and tissues in my arse hole, in case you're wondering. Now this is Navitas, you know that one, but the clear one here is my personal favourite, this builds my immune system back up so that I don't drop dead on you all, but one of the side effects is that I can't do magic properly so I can't Apparate or do anything like that just in case I accidentally turn myself inside out. This pretty red one here is supposed to help me sleep, but all it does is make me sick so when I take it I just throw the whole lot up and then I have to start again. Would you like me to continue?"

"I am so sorry, Draco."

"Good!" Draco said again, but he was sounding a little hysterical now, "Good, be sorry, I'm hoping you are sorry until you fucking die, but I don't want to have to look at you while you're feeling it, so fuck off and leave me alone!"

"Draco…"

"Leave me alone!"

Harry looked at him and wanted to cry. Draco was breathing heavy and he started removing the stoppers from his many bottles. Harry watched him, not wanting to leave him there alone but knowing Draco wouldn't take his medicines in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco didn't answer; he seemed intent on controlling his breathing.

Harry gave him one last look. He knew that he wouldn't sleep again that night, but he knew he had to leave the room. He turned away and left Draco alone in the room, by the time he reached the common room his cheeks were wet, but he didn't turn back. He went back to bed to wait out the rest of the night.

*********

Please go to part 2


	57. All Things Must Pass Part 2

Snape yawned and picked at the sleep in the corners of his eyes. He withdrew the pocket watch from his robes and inspected it only to discover it was two in the morning. He looked to the bed where Lucius was still staring at the wall. They had spoken little since Draco had left the room a number of hours before. Lucius seemed cold and he shivered often, but he made no moves to put on warmer robes or to pull the bedclothes up over himself. Snape wondered why he had stayed so long, as he had thought perhaps that Lucius might want to talk, but the silence in the room had settled over them like a tomb.

"I think I'll get going then," Snape said and he stifled another yawn. Hermione would be getting worried, that was if she was still awake. She slept soundly at the moment. She was over four months pregnant now and while she appeared to have gotten over her morning sickness problems, she could now sleep for hours on end.

"You're leaving?" Lucius asked. He turned his face to Snape for the first time in hours.

"It's late, Lucius, I have classes in the morning."

"You never used to need sleep," Lucius murmured and then he frowned and looked at the wall again.

"I was a lot younger then."

"You didn't have a woman then."

Snape frowned at the accusation in Lucius Malfoy's voice. It was as though he thought his only friend was leaving him. Perhaps he was right. At that moment Snape wanted nothing more than to get out of that room.

"Will you look after Draco?" Lucius asked, echoing the words he had said long ago after that final battle.

Snape felt a sigh deep within him. He had not done such a good job of looking after his godson so far, and yet Lucius did not seem to blame him. "I will try, but Draco is very wilful."

"I know." Lucius smiled sadly, "he's a lot like his father in that respect."

"He'll regret it, you know."

"Regret what?" Lucius asked.

"Everything he said to you."

This troubled Lucius and he looked helplessly at his faithful wall. "I don't want him to regret it. I want him to get over this…if he has to hate me to do that then that is fine."

"But he will regret it and you know he will. One day he will wake up and it will hit him and he'll regret it."

"You can't let him regret it."

"I can't control the way he thinks…"

"Not legally."

"I am not going to medicate him any further than already has been."

"How was Azkaban?" Lucius asked, changing the subject and forcing a tone of amusement into his voice.

"I wasn't there long enough for it to make an impression." It was a lie and they both knew it, but Severus Snape was an excellent liar and he looked at Lucius evenly as he said it. Azkaban had of course made a great impression on him. He had relived every bad deed and every sin of his life. Every humiliation and torture had been brought to the surface. Potter had endured much the same experience; Dumbledore had confided that Potter had relived his mother dying over and over again. His mother amongst others.

"Are you going to marry your girl?"

Snape had the impression that Lucius was trying to make conversation to stop him from going. "Yes, I'm going to marry her."

"Why?"

Snape shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to have any kind of emotional discussion with Lucius at this moment. Once upon a time he'd have no trouble confiding in him, but a lot of water had passed under that particular bridge.

"She's a Mud…"

"Don't say it."

"She's very young."

"I don't care." It sounded as though he was arguing, as though he were a foolish adolescent once again, but he truly did not care about Hermione's age, just as he was getting sick of sneaking her into his chambers each night. They were engaged, she was going to have his child. He could scarce wait for this month to end so that they could be more open about their relationship.

"Well, she seems very clever. From the fact that she beat Draco at almost every subject would suggest that she is intelligent and from what I saw of her when I was brought here she appears to be very mature. She doesn't come out with illogical sentences that will drive you to distraction and she likes you in spite of your ill temper and unfortunate appearance. So perhaps you should marry her before she comes to her senses and heads for the hills."

Snape scowled and pushed himself out of his chair by the window. "I think that is my cue to leave."

"What do you think my chances are?" Lucius asked when Snape had reached the door.

"Chances of what?"

"Surviving exile?" Lucius turned an apologetic look to him. "If Fudge has got someone like Moody being my keeper, what do you think my chances are?"

Snape decided not to lie now, he scanned Lucius' face and knew that he was hoping for some words of comfort, but Snape knew he also liked to go into things with his eyes open. "I don't know," he admitted. "Weasley is looking to bring a lot of Fudge's Aurors into court for war crimes. I am assuming that if you get someone like Moody…"

"Or Moody himself," Lucius prompted.

"Or Moody himself," Snape conceded, "Weasley will look to indite them. So, if you can get through a week, I think your chances are good…that is if Fudge tells Weasley where he sent you…"

"Thank you for those words of confidence," Lucius drawled.

"I don't think Moody would kill you, if that's any consolation."

"Oh yes, he'll just beat me daily for the next ten years. Either that or he'll do Crucio until I run mad."

"I didn't think death would scare you," Snape said bluntly, "you never seemed that type."

"Death doesn't scare me," Lucius replied defensively, "but I am sick of pain…and I don't want to lose my mind. Why don't they just kill me and get it over with?"

Snape demurred, he looked away feeling distressed. If he looked at Lucius now he would see the same young man who had made his childhood bearable, he hated to think of him as being afraid.

"Do you hate me?" Lucius asked.

"No."

"Would you kill me? If I asked you to, would you kill me?"

"No."

Lucius nodded sadly and began to gnaw his thumb.

Snape knew he should say something, offer some words of comfort, but he couldn't. He wanted to go and sleep beside the woman who would be his wife soon enough. "Goodbye, Lucius."

"Goodbye Severus…will you come back? Before I go?"

"Yes, I'll come back before they take you."

"Then I'll see you soon," Lucius offered up a dazzling smile and Snape felt a smile of his own tug at the corner of his mouth.

"Good night, Lucius, get some sleep."

********

By the time Harry realised that it was too late to attempt any more sleep or revision the sun had risen over Hogwarts and he could hear other students making their way down to breakfast. Revision was useless anyway. The teachers had stopped teaching actual lessons two weeks before and had been going over any topic that they thought might come up in the exams over and over again. Harry had managed to study whilst he had waited outside Draco's hospital room over the last month, and when he couldn't sleep after his early morning encounter, he had taken out his Herbology text book and had made a brave attempt at cramming a little more into his already aching brain.

He didn't know if any of it would do any good. Dumbledore had approved a number of previous years exams to be admitted for use as preparation materials for the exams, but anything that he may have learned had fast run through Harry's brain like a sieve. He was surprised however when he saw Hermione sitting at breakfast happily eating toast. When he thought back to the jittering mess she had been before OWLS he could only think that this was just not the same person. Either being pregnant agreed with her immensely or she had completely lost her mind.

If it was the pregnancy then Harry was beginning to wish he could reach the same state. The thought had reached him at some ungodly hour of the night that he could well stuff these exams up completely (in much the same way he had managed to stuff everything up recently) and then he would not get into Auror school and then he would end up an unqualified nothing who lived in the front room of Grimmauld Place reliving his glory days over and over again to any poor soul who happened upon him.

He began to sweat.

Lavender too was sweating on exams, but only because her father had told her that he wouldn't help her financially with her shop if she didn't get at least three NEWTS. She had decided that Herbology, Divination and Charms were the three she did best at and had put all of her energies into studying for them, but now that Herbology was actually here she was having a quiet panic attack.

Harry didn't notice Lavender's panicked state and so thought that he was the only person that Monday morning who had found themselves in a state of blind panic. He was glad he only had the one exam, Hermione had Ancient Runes in the afternoon and Harry figured that Draco would have the same exam considering he shared the majority of Hermione's classes (History of Magic being the one he had decided not to bother with).

Harry wondered if Draco was prepared for the work ahead. He had lost a month of revision and if he was taking all of the potions he had shown Harry, it was possible that he was not well enough to complete many of the practicals.

Breakfast itself was a quiet affair. Lavender's lips kept moving as she silently recited the method of grafting a meat eating Lion Tuber to a fire breathing Dragon flower. Hermione's Ancient Runes textbook was propped up against the milk jug and she was so intent on reading that she actually missed her mouth and shoved toast up her nose. Harry was managing to eat with gusto until Draco came down and took the only space left at the table, beside Lavender. His appetite vanished and he looked anxiously at Draco's pale features. It did not look as though he had slept and Harry figured that if the sleeping draught made him vomit it was probable that he hadn't taken it.

"Hi," Hermione said not bothering to mask her surprise at seeing him. Harry had said nothing about Draco staying for exams, and neither had Severus. She thought that he had simply come to see his father and left again. "How are you? Do you feel well?"

Draco looked at her with a face that twisted into a sneer. "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course I'm talking to you."

"Then please refrain. Keep your filthy mudblood concerns to yourself."

Hermione's mouth fell open, as did Lavender and Harry's, but Hermione recovered herself faster than either.

"I don't care what problems you have with Harry and I am sorry for what happened to you, but don't you ever take it out on me!" she said fiercely. "I've done nothing but help you, I even helped your father even though I find the man abhorrent, you should be thanking me!"

Draco flushed and a hot red patch blazed on his cheek. For a moment he looked as though he would add to his insult and pick a fight with her. Instead he demurred and apologised. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I'm not feeling myself at the moment." He then bowed his head so that his face was hidden behind the messy fringe of blond hair, and he ate in silence.

Harry watched him eat, taking note of everything he took in and despite his shock at Draco's behaviour, he was somehow pleased to see that he was eating more than usual.

"Don't be angry at him," Harry murmured to Hermione, "it's my fault."

"I'm not angry with him," Hermione said firmly, "and it is not your fault. Just drop it; you need to concentrate on your exams."

At the High Table Dumbledore was enjoying his breakfast with old Griselda Marchbanks who (to Harry's secret astonishment) was still alive and kicking. She was laughing loudly at something the Headmaster had said and Harry thought that she had probably been a real flirt in her younger days. Beside her Minerva was surreptitiously trying to block her ear closest to the older woman and Snape was hiding what Harry would have once thought of as a malicious smile but he now recognised as a sign of the mans wry amusement.

Once breakfast was finished and everyone filtered out of the Great Hall, the fifth, seventh and eighth years all milled around outside in the entrance hall for a while until Professor Flintwick came and shooed them outside into the sunshine.

Harry, Hermione and Lavender settled under the beech tree at the edge of the lake, each a little too nervous to enjoy the beautiful summer morning.

"I hate this," Lavender said and she pulled a few blades of grass out of the ground as though hoping they might offer her some answers for the impending exams. "I hate how we're all made to feel as though these exams are the most important things that we will ever do, when in fact for most of us they will have no effect on the outcomes of our lives!"

Hermione glared at her with self righteous indignance. "How can you say that? Our NEWTS are important!" She shook her head, unable to believe that anyone could think otherwise. "They help you take the next step in your life. I mean, what if you want to be a teacher, or a healer…" she looked at Harry, "or an Auror? If you fail these exams you wouldn't be able to do any of those things!"

"Calm down, Hermione, you'll do yourself damage." Lavender rolled her eyes. "All I'm saying is that most of the students who sit NEWTS don't really need to do them. I want to open a shop; I don't need NEWTS to do that. The only subject I really needed to do was Potions and I didn't take it."

"Why didn't you take Potions?" Harry asked, "I know he's awful, but I gritted my teeth and did it."

Lavender ignored Hermione's look at Harry's comment. "You were _allowed_ in, Harry. I wasn't."

"Snape didn't let you take the class?"

"I didn't get an Outstanding OWL for Potions, so no, he didn't let me in. Bastard. I can almost see the smile on his face when he said no to my elective." She looked at Hermione who was now looking at her with the scowl she had previously given to Harry. "Sorry, 'Mione."

Hermione's face softened. She could imagine the smile he had on his face too. She looked over to where Draco was sitting near the ancient stone wall. He was picking at what looked like sliced apple. She nodded towards him; "Severus told me that Draco really let fly at his father last night. He told Mr. Malfoy to hurry up and die."

This unsettled Harry more than any other piece of news could have. The one person Draco had never given up on was his father, and yet now when everything was finally coming together Draco had seemingly given up on Lucius. "Why?" Harry asked quietly, "Why would he say that to his father?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied, "Severus said that Draco blamed Mr. Malfoy for everything that happened to him, he said it was his father's fault."

"Archibald Semeuse was Lucius' fault?"

"Well, Draco seems to think that if his father hadn't followed Voldemort then he wouldn't have been interrogated and then he wouldn't have been given the kiss so he wouldn't have ended up in the Museum and the Curator would never have heard of Draco."

Harry couldn't deny the logic of Draco's thought pattern, but he could also see the stupidity of it. In the entire time that Harry and Draco were together, Draco had never once condemned Lucius for anything; in fact he had always been the first to jump to the former Death Eater's defence. Even when Moody had scarred Draco for life he had stood by his father, but then again, what Archibald Semeuse had done was something else entirely. Perhaps this was the final straw and Draco couldn't take any more.

"He's just lashing out," Hermione said philosophically, "he's upset and he doesn't know who to blame."

"Can you blame him?" Harry said hotly, "he can lash out as much as he wants, I don't care. I wish he would just hit me or something, I wish he would beat me to a pulp. I wish he would just take it out on me."

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said, trying to soothe him, "he'll come through this. It's really good that he's here, it's a good step. He's not hiding."

Harry wanted to tell her to shut up. He wanted to scream because all he could do now was look at Draco and he couldn't hold him or calm him or soothe him. Someone had hurt him, someone had hurt his baby and had used him and torn into him and caused him to scream and cry and bleed. And Harry had been too late to stop it, too late to stop the one person he needed to stop.

Hermione rubbed her belly and was rewarded with a small kick from inside – or at least it could be a kick, she wasn't sure. She imagined that inside her ever expanding womb her little one was doing laps.

"You're getting bigger," Harry said, trying to draw his attention away from staring at Draco.

"You think? I haven't noticed so much." Hermione looked down at her little rounded belly with pride.

"Have you thought of any names?" Lavender asked, deciding that naming the baby would have to be far more entertaining than fretting over exams or Draco. It would certainly make her feel a little better.

"Lots of names," Hermione said, "and Severus hates every one of them. I like Gabrielle, Garnet and Rosie. He likes Belladonna, Ravenna and Magdalene."

"Belladonna?" Lavender asked, wrinkling her nose. "As in Deadly Nightshade?"

Hermione shook her head; "don't even get me started on _that_."

"So it's a girl then?" Harry asked confused.

"We don't know what it is. If we went to a Muggle hospital they could use one of those ultrasound things and find out what sex the baby is, but we aren't going to a Muggle hospital, we have a mediwitch for a midwife…" she stopped and smiled.

"Mediwitches are very good," Lavender said, "they have been delivering Wizards and Witches for centuries."

"I know, I'd just like to know what we're having."

"Alright then. What about boys names then?" Lavender smiled.

"I like Oscar, Rowan and William. He likes Lucien, Mordred and Aurelius."

"Oh Gods, they're all awful!" Harry cried, "How could you torture your child with any of them?"

Hermione looked disgruntled and rubbed her belly again.

Minerva and Professor Sprout suddenly appeared and began calling them in for the Herbology exam.

It proved more difficult than any of them had anticipated. Lavender was grateful that she had anticipated grafting of dangerous plants as being important; she figured that it had saved her at least two fingers, but Seamus Finnegan had not been so lucky and was on his way to St Mungo's to have emergency limb growth. Harry had been more fortunate; he only needed the help of Madam Pomfrey for the large chunk that his Flesh Eating Fangor had taken out of him. Hermione had felt her stomach turn for the first time in weeks when she was confronted by dragon manure fertilizer on such a large scale and as soon as the exam was over she was running to the bathroom to thoroughly bathe.

When she came out of the bathroom she found Draco waiting for her, leaning his back lazily against the wall and she guessed he had been there for a while.

"I just wanted to say sorry…again," he said.

"It's okay," Hermione replied and she gave him a smile that she knew was sickeningly sympathetic. "I just wanted to know that you were alright."

Draco looked uncomfortable for a moment; he looked at the floor and kicked at the wall idly. "I'm fine," he said, "I'm just fine."

"Harry misses you," she blurted out and grimaced, not really knowing if Harry wanted her to take up his cause.

"Yeah," Draco said gruffly, "well he should have thought of that…"

"He went to Azkaban…so did Severus…did you know that?"

Draco didn't know. No one had told him that detail and he tried unsuccessfully to not look surprised.

"He knocked out two Aurors when they wouldn't let him into the Museum. Then he and Severus were accused of trashing the exhibition and killing the Curator…and taking your father."

"But they got off," Draco bit out, "so it all ended well for them, didn't it?"

"I know you're angry at him Draco, but he didn't want this to happen, he didn't know anything like this could ever happen. He loves you, he went to find you…"

"I don't want to talk about this," Draco said shaking his head.

"But he _loves_ you, Draco, and your father loves you, you can't just walk away from them!"

Possibly not, but Draco could very well walk away from her at that moment, and he did. Hermione watched him go and wondered if she should have kept her mouth shut. She wondered if Harry would start screaming when he found out. She wondered if she really cared what Harry thought right then. It was Draco who was hurting, she was only trying to help him.

She managed to avoid Harry for the rest of the afternoon, sitting her Ancient Runes exam and then heading straight to the Dungeons. She wanted to remove herself from the whole twisted scenario for a while at least, and curling up on the bed to revise for charms tomorrow seemed just what she needed.

Severus' dungeon chambers were in an unusual state of clutter. He had packed them up over the weekend and they now appeared to be little more than sparse living arrangements amidst piles of wooden packing crates. Once school was finished for the year they would be moving to the Fenn and so he did not need all of his personal belongings to be here anymore. The only things that remained unpacked were the clothes he required for day to day living and basic tools for marking papers should he feel the need to work down in the room.

Hermione's books were piled on the little table beside the bed, but as she entered the room she noticed two things; first that the shower was running and second, that she was horribly tired. She was always tired at the moment.

A look at the clock revealed that it was only three thirty and far too early for Severus to be here. She frowned and wondered if somehow she had left the shower running that morning or if someone was fooling around playing a prank. She ventured to the bathroom and poked her head around the door. Severus was standing in the shower, scrubbing himself with the same vigour Hermione had used when she was desperate to get manure off her.

"Severus? What happened?"

He jumped, yelped, and spun around to face her. "You scared the shit out of me!"

She couldn't hold the smile in, she loved it when the calm and collected façade dropped for a moment, and it was usually when he was taken by surprise. "I'm sorry," she said, but a giggle had made its way into her voice, "I just didn't expect you to be here."

"We can thank Roberto Dawkins," he explained, "he is my latest Longbottom and his peace potion just boiled over and exploded all over me."

"But you don't heat a peace potion."

"I know that, everyone else in the classroom knew that, Dawkins did not know that."

"So, do you feel peaceful?" She asked, the amusement still rich inside her.

"Not particularly."

"Did you call him a dunderhead?" she wheedled playfully.

"Amongst other things," he murmured.

"You are very sexy when you're caustic."

"Hmm," he arched an eyebrow. "I seem to recall I made you cry…"

She waved her hands vaguely as though it was all untrue. "You look very sexy in there."

"You treat me as little more than an object, Miss Granger," he said, affecting a miffed tone.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry Professor. How can I make it up to you?"

He grinned an evil grin. "Well, you can start with getting in here with me."

Hermione sighed dramatically. There was always time for study and sleep later.

******

In the morning Draco was looking more pale and drawn than he had the day before and Harry was sporting a heavy bandage around his arm and more stubble on his chin. Neither looked as though they had slept particularly well. When Lavender asked Harry if he was planning on showering and shaving that day he had barked out an insult of a reply to her and guzzled his morning coffee down. Draco was pushing his food around his plate listlessly and resting his cheek on his fist.

Theory of Charms went well for everyone. Even Harry, who was not particularly good at the theory of anything, actually felt as though he had done the subject justice. He always relied on making up for his shortcomings in the practical exams and like his mother he had a gift for charms.

After lunch they once again found themselves sitting under the beech tree waiting to be called in for exams and Harry watched as one by one they were all called into the Great Hall to sit their practical. Soon Harry was the only one sitting under the beech tree and his thoughts began to wander. He had tried to talk to Draco the previous night and had been hexed for his trouble. For a moment he had been tempted to retaliate and Draco looked very much as though he wanted him to. But Harry had turned away.

He watched Draco disappear into the castle as his name was called, and Harry was called several minutes later. Draco was still sitting at the little table doing his exams, and he wasn't looking happy about his progress. Charms had never been a strong point, but it looked as though the exam was not going well. As Harry sat down there was an explosion of glass and a few people yelped in surprise.

Harry swung around to see Draco blushing hot and apologising for the mishap. The old Professor who was testing him looked on sympathetically.

"Don't worry young man, I understand that you have not been well recently?"

"Um, well, no…I haven't been well…"

"You're taking Auxidium aren't you?"

"Yes, Professor, twice a day."

"Well then, you have done very well considering. Perhaps we should stop for today then?"

Draco nodded and stood up shame faced. His eye caught Harry's as he turned to leave and Harry recognised the glassy look. Draco fled before he lost his composure completely.

The following day Draco came down to breakfast looking positively awful. He looked horribly sick and both Harry and Hermione wanted to force him back to bed. He ignored Harry completely and he was only marginally more cordial in the face of Hermione's concern. The reason surfaced that afternoon when Harry sat down in front of Professor Tofty for his Transfigurations practical. Draco had Professor Marchbanks enthralled by his prowess and Harry knew then that he had not taken his medicines that morning. He might be sick, but he could at least do magic, and there was no way Draco Malfoy was going to allow himself to fail Transfigurations.

"You can't do that," Harry said later after he had run after Draco, catching him just before he reached the library.

"Do what, Potter?" Draco spat nastily.

"You can't just not take your medicine, you need them to get better."

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. I take various medicines under the advisement of the professional Healers at St Mungo's, not Harry Potter – professional nothing at the moment."

"I can't see the Healers at St Mungo's agreeing with you just stopping them so that you can pass an exam."

"Then I will take it up with them," Draco said with an overly polite tone, "now if you will excuse me I have study to do."

But on the Thursday Draco was looking better, a product of the fact that he had no major exams until the following week and he was no doubt taking his medicines again. Harry and Draco both had Thursday off and while Draco closed himself in his room, Harry took the opportunity of getting some sleep. He had the luxury of four full days to prepare for the following week. Hermione had History of Magic on Thursday and then Arithmancy with Draco on Friday; Harry had nothing until Astronomy on Monday.

He needed sleep and he had no doubt that Draco needed sleep too, but he couldn't talk to Draco because every time he did Draco either hexed him, swore at him or affected his overly polite tone which was worse than any of them.

Hermione, on the other hand, was getting more sleep than she had ever needed in her life. She found it hard to keep her eyes open, and the more important her day was, the more tired she found himself. Her body had become a slave to her ever changing hormones. She would sleep like a log all night long and then wake craving sex. It seemed that the moment her morning sickness stopped, her libido kicked in and she was insatiable. Severus was almost staggering to teach his classes in the morning and was contemplating brewing various performance enhancing potions to keep to keep her satisfied at night. He had even yawned in front of his fourth years that week.

Having been unusually lazy in her approach to her Advanced History of Magic exam, Hermione found that she wasn't concerned with how well she did at all. This was a little troubling to her. She had never been so unconcerned with her academic success, it felt unnatural to her and was somehow more frightening than anything that was to come. She was pregnant, she hadn't told her parents and she was running off to marry her Potions Master – and it was her unconcern about her History of Magic exam that worried her. Maybe Harry was right, maybe she was losing her mind.

They all spent the weekend revising for the following week. On Saturday morning Lavender received a piece of news that made her giddy and more agitated about her prospects of passing. Her father had found a shop in Diagon Ally that would be good for her perfume and toiletries store, and although he doubted that his daughter's venture would get her anywhere, he had made a promise and an arrangement for her to go to see the shop space on Thursday morning. Lavender's final exam was on Wednesday and she knew that her father was taking a leap of faith in assuming she was going to pass. She could scarce wait for the next week to go by and she could get herself to London.

But until that time there were other exams to be completed. Hermione yawned her way through Astronomy on Monday night while Harry did extremely well, partially due to the seven cups of strong coffee he had consumed that evening. Much to Hermione's dismay, he had chosen not to shave or change his clothes since before exams had started, and with the strange insomniac eyes and the caffeine jitters, he was looking a lot like one of the homeless people that Hermione had seen the last time she went to London. Draco did less than well with the exam. He had not slept a full hour at once since he had arrived back at the castle and was convinced he had seen a shooting star – which he wrote on his parchment – and it turned out to be an express owl delivering a letter.

He did not fare much better in his Defence Against the Dark Arts practical. Knowing full well how bad he'd felt when doing his Transfigurations exams, he was not game to try and duel without taking his potions. Of course, if he did take his potions his magic was affected and he couldn't perform properly anyway. And so he was forced to sit on the side and watch, along with Hermione who had been excused by Minerva. They were both to receive a standard pass based on their performance over the year – and neither was particularly happy with the outcome. Hermione bemoaned the unfairness of the situation to Severus later that night, while Draco took out his rage by practicing his hexes on unsuspecting first years as they left the library.

They were glad when Wednesday arrived and they both had a free day. Harry had gone down to his Care of Magical Creatures exams and Hermione found herself loitering around the common room in hope of finding Draco so that she could ask him to quiz her for potions the following day.

He was there, enjoying silence and the fact that Harry wasn't there and he could sit in the common room without having Harry stare at him. Hermione approached him and he almost groaned as she made her request.

"You're fucking the Potions Master," he drawled, "and you want _me_ to quiz you?"

"Well Severus could do it," she admitted, "but he is teaching today and by the time he finishes he is sick to death of talking about Potions."

"I think he'd make an exception for your exam."

"Well that's true too…" Hermione sat down and shoved him over. "But I'm always tired by that time…either that or I want to have sex and that's not really conductive to revision."

Draco's eyes widened. "Horney eh?"

"Incredibly, I can't seem to get enough of it."

"I didn't know being pregnant would make you horney."

"I didn't either, but Madam Mimsby says it is quite common…poor Severus is exhausted."

"Well, he spent years not getting any and now he can't keep up, we should all have his problem." Draco picked up 'Alchemical Potions and their Magical Workings' and sought out a question to ask her.

"Harry misses you," she said for the fiftieth time since he'd gotten back.

From behind the book she heard him sigh. "Look, Hermione, I know you mean well, but I just don't care. He can miss me forever and I don't care. He was an arsehole to me for months and now he misses me and I'm supposed to be jumping up and down for joy for it? I'm not going to. I don't care."

"I think you do," she said, "I think you care a lot."

"Stop it, please, I can't stand this."

"He understands, he doesn't want to push you and if he could get a time turner and go back and change it all he would, but he can't, Draco. Don't you understand that you're punishing him, but you're punishing yourself too! It's like cutting your nose off to spite your face. You love him, you're just so pissed off you can't bring yourself to admit it."

"Just stop it, Hermione; please just let me deal with this. School will be over soon and I just want to go h…"

She pulled him to her and hugged him tight. He didn't resist and she thought he might melt a little and sink into the embrace. He didn't. He stiffened and after a short time he pushed himself back and picked up his book again.

"Do you want me to test you?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. He hadn't run away and he was still talking to her. She wanted him to open up and confide in her, but in lieu of that she would accept a potions quiz. It was a start.

********

Draco lay in bed and wondered if being a prick had always been such hard work. He'd never noticed it before and so he assumed not. He had quizzed Hermione and then taken his troubled magic back to the library. First years were such easy targets, and hexes – even if they weren't working particularly well – were always effective on them. For the first time in his life however he'd had an attack of conscience over his actions.

He must have spent too long with Hermione that afternoon. He wouldn't mind it so much, except that she insisted on talking to him about Harry and his feelings and if he truly wanted to discuss his feelings about Harry he would just take it up with Harry.

Well, he probably wouldn't, but he liked the self righteous thought.

It was night now and he thoroughly expected that he would not be disturbed until morning, which was a shame, because he couldn't sleep and someone – no matter how unwelcome – would at least offer some kind of distraction from the fact that he could not sleep.

He hadn't slept for so long now that he had almost forgotten what true sleep was like. He could doze, but even that did not last long. He could take the sleeping draught but he just threw it back up and it was ineffective. He simply could not sleep.

It was not a problem he had expected. It had come just as he had thought he was doing well. He had closed his eyes on his first night here, closed them to sleep and he had seen it. There, at the foot of his bed he had seen it. Fingers first, long and bony and diseased with liver spots they would curl over the dark wood footer. Then the arms would come, elbows rising up sharply and bringing in their wake the shoulders and then the face would emerge and the old man would leer at him in the darkness. He had been hiding there all along. Hiding and waiting for Draco to close his eyes. Soon the body would follow the face, pale and skinny, skin flaccid and hanging off the bones and he would crawl up the bed, like a giant spider made of flesh.

And Draco couldn't move. He could never move and he could never talk and he could never resist. He would always wake then, just as the face reached his and he would always scream and begin to frantically search his room to find the intruder who was always hiding, just out of view.

It was better to never close his eyes. It was better to become ashen faced and hollowed out than to close his eyes and have that beast come for him over and over again.

Yet he had been able to sleep at home. He had thought it through. Would he feel safer there? Would he be able to sleep as soon as he got back there? He doubted it. The answer was closer than that. Snape had been there. His godfather had been there to watch over him. Draco had fallen asleep in his bed and Snape had sat in a chair and watched over him all night. It would be humiliating though, to go down to the dungeons and ask if he could sleep there. Hermione would be there and she would look at him with that same sickening sympathy she had reserved for him in the last two weeks. They would let him stay though. And if he could stay then he could sleep and he might feel better.

He was desperate for sleep.

He was desperate for somewhere that he could feel safe. It had crossed his mind that he could go to his father, and one night he had actually grabbed his pillow and his cat and decided to go – but then it struck him; Lucius had no powers now. Lucius had not been able to stop the beast before and he had less of a chance now. Lucius couldn't protect him, he never could!

Which left Harry.

Harry; who he would never go to. Harry; who would let him in and take care of him and he knew it. Harry; about who his resolve was starting to falter every night he lay in his bed awake.

He yawned and stared at the ceiling, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He let them close and his body began to relax.

And there it was. Fingers first; curling over the end of the bed.

Draco Malfoy's eyes snapped open, his heart beating fast. He could have cried, he felt so sick. He needed sleep. He needed it.

He swung his legs out of bed. "It doesn't mean anything," he told himself, "it's just so I can get some sleep."

He grabbed his pillow, his navitas and Miss Kitty and sighed as he decided that he was desperate enough to pay Harry a visit.

*******

Harry had been in bed an hour and he couldn't sleep. He'd tossed and he'd turned and then he'd made a half arsed attempt at masturbating and finally he just lay in the dark and wished for sleep.

Tomorrow was the last exam. Potions; what a way to finish. He felt that he had done well so far, in spite of all the crap he was doing well. Potions was the exam he was dreading, mostly because it was the one exam that he could not make up for in the practical aspect. He was a terrible potions maker. He was terrible at potions in general. He had no idea why he thought he could pass it.

Hermione had promised faithfully to give him a last minute review, go through formulas that could possibly come up. He would be doing this instead of having lunch, and then they would go to the pub to celebrate after. Not that he felt like celebrating anything, there wasn't much to celebrate.

God he hoped he didn't fall asleep in the exam.

He closed his eyes and tried again. That was his problem, he kept _trying_ to sleep. He was so busy trying to sleep that he was waking himself up. Sleeping should not be hard work.

There was a knock at his door. It was soft and had he actually been asleep he would have missed it entirely. He contemplated ignoring it. It was no doubt Neville having an anxiety attack because his Gran kept sending him owls telling him he was a failure, something everyone agreed was pretty harsh considering he hadn't even received his results. Harry just didn't understand why Neville had decided that Harry was the best person to confide in. Knowing Neville he probably thought that he was taking Harry's mind off his own troubles.

The knock came again, more insistent this time, but still soft. Harry silently reasoned that had it been urgent the knocking would have been louder.

But as he wasn't sleeping anyway Harry figured he could talk to Neville for an hour or so. He lit the room and opened the door. And then he froze.

Draco tried for a few seconds to look defiant, but he was clutching his pillow and his cat and he couldn't look defiant while was doing that. The look faltered and then he just looked distressed.

"Draco…" Harry had to take a breath, "Are you okay?"

"I can't sleep," Draco said, utterly defeated, "I _need_ to sleep."

"I haven't been sleeping either," Harry offered, but Draco continued.

"When I close my eyes I see him. I think he's there and he's waiting for me to fall asleep. I need to sleep."

Harry reached out to him, his fingers brushed Draco's pale cheek and Draco didn't pull away. He seemed to sway in the doorway.

"Are you alright? You look ill, can I get you something?"

"No," Draco swayed again, "I'm fine, I just need to sleep."

He didn't look fine. He sounded confused, as though he would break down.

"Draco, truly, you look sick. Can I get Madam Pomfrey?"

"No…I want to sleep," Draco screwed up his eyes, as though he had a headache. "I can't stop thinking…I keep closing my eyes and he keeps coming for me. I haven't slept for a week and I need to sleep."

Harry reached for Draco's pillow and tossed it onto his bed, then took his hand and pulled him gently into the room. "Do you want Ron's bed?"

"No, Weasley tried to kill himself in it." Draco dropped Miss Kitty onto Harry's bed and then he climbed into it without hesitation.

Harry almost jumped for joy. His mind burst into delighted shouts, his face split into his first real smile in weeks. But then he had to wonder – was he supposed to sleep in Ron's bed?

"Hurry up and come to bed," Draco mumbled into his pillow. He had rolled onto his side and had moved against the wall to make room for Harry.

Harry slipped in behind him and spooned around him instinctively.

"You're not going to leave me alone…"

"No," Harry whispered, "I'll stay with you all night." He hesitantly put his arm over Draco; "Is this okay?"

Draco nodded into his pillow.

Harry inhaled the scent of Draco's hair and closed his eyes. He pressed a soft kiss into the back of Draco's neck and Draco shivered.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "I'm sorry I kissed you."

"You need to shave," Draco murmured. He yawned and his eyes closed slowly. "Hold on tight," he said so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear him. Almost.

Harry whispered for darkness and held Draco a little tighter. He would keep Draco safe for as long as Draco needed him to. He would love him forever and he would hold on to him that night.

******

Hermione was banging on Harry's door and was finding herself getting more than a little distressed when he refused to answer. The tower was essentially empty, everyone having gone down to breakfast already. Harry was supposed to have been up long ago to revise potions theory before the exam started in two hours time, now he would be lucky to finish breakfast…and hopefully have a shower.

"Harry!" she yelled and banged louder, "Harry, wake up! I got out of bed for this!"

But there was still no reply. She really didn't want to go into his room, Harry was smelling pretty awful lately. Then again, she and Lavender had lived in filth for a while. She lifted the latch and pushed the door open.

"Harry!" She went to the bed where Harry was a largish lump under the summer blanket. She saw a slender wrist that became a pale hand clutching at one of the pillows. That was not Harry's hand. She pulled the blanket back a little and saw blond hair and then Draco's face in profile. He was asleep, looking so peaceful that she ached at the prospect of having to wake him. Harry's face was pressed into Draco's shoulder and Hermione sighed sadly as she gently shook him.

Harry jumped and blinked and involuntarily squeezed Draco too tightly.

"I'm sorry," Hermione grimaced and chewed her lip, "It's late, Harry, you have to get up."

Harry blinked again and struggled to sit up. "What time is it?"

"Eight."

"Fuck."

"Yep."

"I need to have a shower." He looked at Draco still sleeping. "I can't leave him."

"You don't have to," Hermione said uneasily, "he has to wake up too."

"I'm awake," Draco mumbled and then a shudder ran through him. He sat up suddenly, as though realising that he had actually had some sleep.

"It's alright," Harry said, trying to soothe him, "you're safe."

Draco reached across Harry for his bottle of Navitas on the nightstand and swigged a mouthful straight from the bottle, Hermione gagged just watching it.

"God that's foul," Draco rasped under his breath. He stoppered the bottle and put it back on the table and then he looked at Harry a little sheepishly. "Thank you," he said hesitantly, "for sleeping with me."

"You know I always will…whenever you want me to."

Draco nodded but couldn't look Harry in the eye just yet.

"I'm…" Hermione shuffled from foot to foot, "I'm going to go down to breakfast. I'll see you both there?"

"Yeah, we'll be down soon," Harry told her and then after she was gone he turned back to Draco. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better," Draco said quietly, "a lot better."

"Good."

They both bowed their heads.

Draco sighed and murmured "shit" under his breath. He rocked back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. "Harry…"

Harry looked at him hopefully.

"This is so stupid," Draco said almost to himself.

"I'm so sorry."

"Stop saying that."

"I…"

"I know that you're sorry. I know you didn't want any of this to happen and I know you didn't mean to kiss Fred Weasley, I know all of it…but apologising for it over and over again isn't helping."

"I just want you to know," Harry said helplessly, "I want you to know that I tried to get to you in time. I hate myself for this…"

"Fuck, Harry, just stop it!" Draco scrambled out of the bed and began collecting his belongings.

"I love you so much, Draco."

Draco looked at him exasperated. "I'm going to get dressed, I'll see you at breakfast."

"Draco…"

"I'll see you at breakfast," Draco repeated, but it was softer this time. He looked at Harry meaningfully. "Everything is fine, Harry. Have a shower and I will see you downstairs."

*******

"Wow, I thought you weren't coming down," Lavender said as Hermione sat down at the table beside her. "It's really late."

"I know, I was trying to wake Harry up." She reached for what was left of the porridge. "Anyway, I thought you'd be the one sleeping in. Exams are finished, I didn't expect to see you surface until midday."

"Are you joking?" Lavender grinned, "I am going to Diagon Ally to see my shop this morning, and then I'm going to look at some new robes and have lunch, eat ice cream and generally enjoy a full day of shopping." She sipped her tea, looking markedly more relaxed than she had in two weeks.

"I wish I could come," Hermione said wistfully, "I haven't done any decent shopping for ages."

"You'll have to do some soon," Lavender pointed out, "you'll need maternity robes soon."

Hermione looked down at herself. It was true that the only robes she actually possessed were her school robes and the set of formal robes she had purchased for going to dinner with Viktor last year – they were still torn from where Severus had thrown her down in the forest. She smiled at the sudden memory and began to squirm, perhaps she could catch him before classes started – surely there was time for a quickie.

"That is a wicked grin," Lavender said, "you cannot be thinking about anything good."

"I was just remembering something. I guess I do need some new robes though. I'll have to wait until we go home though, I don't want to catch the Knight Bus just to go shopping."

"I can pick you up something nice to wear on the train home if you like, I don't think you're going to fit into your jeans."

Hermione doubted it too, now that her belly had started to grow she was starting to show. She was glad that school was ending because questions would have become inevitable. "That would be nice if you could. Just something plain, I'll give you some money before you leave."

To Lavender the idea of buying something plain was laughable, but she nodded anyway.

"Can I sit here?"

Hermione smiled up at Draco, "of course you can. Did you get some sleep?"

"Yes," Draco said and he sounded relieved as he dropped himself down on the bench, "good sleep too." He looked over the table, "is there anything decent left to eat?"

"You mostly eat fruit and stuff don't you?" Lavender asked, knowing the answer but just voicing the question, "there's plenty of that, but I don't think you'll get any toast or bacon or that kind of thing."

Draco attempted a basic accio to bring the fruit salad to him and found that the bowl only managed to rock a little. He sighed. He could scarce wait until he could stop taking the potions that were robbing him of his magic. Hermione drew the bowl up to them and asked what else he wanted. "Yogurt, please…is that Porridge you have there?"

"Yep."

"Some of that too please." He shook his head. "I don't understand how this potion affects me. I can't do basic charms, I can't Apparate and I have problems with Transfiguring, but I can still do things like hexes."

"I think it might have something to do with the control required," Hermione said thoughtfully. "With charms you are often trying to bring things to you or hold them in a pattern, but hexes are just a thrown spell, you're just tossing them out, there's less skill involved."

Draco shrugged and seemed impressed by the answer. She was probably right. He served himself portions of the food. He had to admit that eating so much early in the day was not his favourite thing to do, but he had to keep himself healthy or else all the potions he was taking would be rendered useless. For the first time he was determined to take care of himself.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, listening to the occasional burst of excited chatter from Lavender. Draco asked her to get him some sweets while she was in London and even offered her the use of his carriage. She declined, preferring the speed of Apparating from place to place. Draco privately thought her a philistine, but shrugged and smiled and said nothing.

It was close to nine by the time Harry arrived and the only people still left eating breakfast were students who had exams that day and teachers who were finishing up and getting ready to leave and head off to classes.

Lavender took one look at him when he walked in and could help but cry out across the hall "My God, he's clean!"

Showered and shaved, Harry blushed and pulled a face at Lavender who was chortling at her own humour. He approached the table and stood awkwardly for a moment until Draco shuffled Hermione across to make room. Harry sat down beside him and found that he was breathing a sigh of relief.

Draco was looking at him in a perturbed way and while Hermione and Lavender discreetly turned to each other to have a quiet discussion about clothing he cleared his throat.

"I was thinking," Draco said softly, "that I might not feel… _safe_ …at home either."

"Oh?" Harry felt a tiny light of hope start to burn in his stomach.

"I thought that if you wanted to…then maybe you could…you could come with me…when school finishes…if you want to."

"I could do that," Harry agreed, "I'd like to do that."

"I was going to leave tonight," Draco bowed his head, feeling more than a little self conscious, "but I know the leaving feast is on Sunday and you would want to stay for that?"

"We were going to get the train home on Monday morning," Harry said, "Hermione doesn't want to get the bus and it's the last time we'll be able to catch it…why don't you stay and come to London on the train with us?"

"I…" Draco began to chew at his lip in the same way that Hermione would do when she was nervous, "I don't really want to go to London…it's too close…"

"I'll look after you," Harry whispered. "Snape is going to meet us there and he's going to drive Hermione to Wilshire…I'm sure he'll have room for two more." Harry hesitated, "I don't know what kind of a driver he is."

"He's a good driver," Draco assured him, "I've been in a car with him before."

"So will you come on the train? Send Non home and come on the train?"

Draco nodded silently and under the table his hand found Harry's and he twined their fingers together. "There's only healthy food left," he said referring to the breakfast selection, "you'll have to starve."

Harry didn't think so, he felt he could probably live on the feeling that was rushing through him at that moment for a good solid year.

"Are you sure you want to come to the Manor? I know how much you like your house."

"It's not really my house. I mean I own it, but I've barely lived in it and I think Ron and Pansy want to knock the back wall out and put a conservatory in."

"Eww, the bane of Muggle England."

Harry laughed. "Well, it is pretty dark in there. But it's Ron's house…he has better decorating taste than I do and he's the one who is making it a home."

Draco untangled their fingers and poured tea for them both. "You should eat something," he said, repeating Harry's usual advice to him, "you'll need your strength to get through this exam." He looked at Harry and a smile finally reached his lips. "You can bring anything you want with you," he said, "you know that I want you there…not just to watch over me."

"I was hoping."

"So you can bring whatever you need, whatever you want to have there."

"Buckbeak."

Draco almost dropped the teapot. He placed it down so quickly that it clattered against the plates. "P…Pardon?"

"Buckbeak, the Hippogriff, you remember him?"

"Err…yes…he…he stomped me!"

"Well, only because you aggravated him – and you have to admit that you were pretty good at aggravating everyone back then. He's been living in the attic at Grimmauld Place for years now…"

"Well good, he's used to enclosed places."

"But it would be better for him to be outside. He could live in the stables. I saw them at Christmas, they aren't close to the house and he'd have a great time down there."

Draco's mouth was gaping open.

"Well?"

"I...I don't…"

Harry looked at him as though he would beg.

"He'll be right down the back of the garden?"

"Absolutely, and I'll take care of him, you won't even know he's there."

Draco didn't believe that, but he didn't want to ruin this so soon. "I guess we could…"

But he was interrupted by the sound of boots marching across the flagstones and through the huge doorway of the Great Hall.

"What the hell?" Harry craned his neck around and his eyes widened.

Cornelius Fudge had just marched ten Aurors into the Great Hall.

"What is he doing here?" Hermione hissed, "You'd think he would be busy putting his office in order before he leaves next week."

Fudge had a strange smile on his face. He was managing to look smug and malicious at the same time and he marched himself between the tables towards the High Table, almost whistling jovially as he did so.

"I think he is putting his office in order," Harry said nervously, "and he has some kind of business here."

"Ah Dumbledore," Fudge said loudly and with a distinct tone of amusement in his voice, "glad to see you're all still at breakfast."

"Only just Cornelius I can assure you," Dumbledore replied pleasantly, "I believe we were about to vacate the room."

"Well, not to worry. This will only take a moment of your time."

"I see," Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling behind his glasses, and Harry was fairly certain that the Head Master was wondering just what mischief Fudge was seeking out here. "And to what do we owe this pleasure, Cornelius?"

"I'm afraid I am not pleasure bent today, Dumbledore." He did not sound as though it wasn't a pleasure, in fact he sounded very pleased indeed. "I'm afraid we have received news of the most alarming nature about one of your Professors, Dumbledore, and we have been forced to act."

The same thought immediately rushed through Minerva, Snape and Harry's brains. Krum! But how could they have found out? Who could have seen?

"I'm not quite following you," Dumbledore said with muted concern, there was no point showing Cornelius Fudge just how worried he was.

Fudge held out a scroll of paper and gave a quick glance to the curious students who were still in the Hall. That same smug smile was back on his face. "This is an order of suspension, Dumbledore, ordered by the Ministry and signed by the guardians of the school. I daresay that you are thinking that once your good friend Weasley becomes Minister you will be able to have it reversed, but I don't think that will be possible this time."

"So, you have finally devised a way to get me out at last, Cornelius?"

"Oh, not you, Dumbledore." Fudge was positively enjoying this. "No no." He took a step back and cleared his throat before announcing, loud and clear. "This is for Professor Severus Snape."

Beside Harry, Hermione made a violent movement and he stilled her with a firm hand. "Don't," he whispered sharply, "don't make it worse."

Fudge was taking a moment to gloat, noting that several students were grinning in amazement – Snape was evidently not well liked. "Professor Severus Snape, you are hereby relieved of your position of Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, effective immediately. It seems that the good professor here thinks that conducting relationships of a sexual nature with his students is appropriate behaviour. The board of Governors does not agree however, and the Ministry cannot condone such behaviour – no matter who is in charge."

Snape, Minerva and Harry let out simultaneous breaths of relief. Hermione could not understand why Severus was looking so relieved – he'd just lost his job and Fudge was making him out to be a pervert! It would take her another two hours to realise that it could have been a great deal worse.

A rush of conversation filled the hall. Some students were openly gaping while many of the fifth years, most of whom would be returning the following year and had expected to have Snape as a Professor, were gossiping with abandon. How could this have happened? Who would be fool enough to sleep with Snape? Had he forced them? Was it rape?

"And our own investigations have revealed that the girl is pregnant!"

"Oh dear God," Hermione whimpered.

"My Aurors will assist you in clearing out your chambers, Professor, and then you will be required to leave the premises." Fudge was positively beaming now, having finally removed at least one of Dumbledore's most trusted. He had searched high and low for something on Minerva McGonagall but had found nothing. When the letter from the now dead Museum Curator was passed on to him the previous day, he had almost danced for joy. It had not taken much to search the Ministries records and discover that Snape had recently been registered at St Mungo's as the father of the young Miss Granger's unborn child. They had also given notice of intention to marry, but he saw no reason to bother with that information. Snape was out and he could count his blessings on that score.

Severus stood up, tall and willowy and looking very much as though he would like to hex Fudge into oblivion. A smile barely touched his lips and his black eyes flicked over the wondering faces staring back at him.

"Cornelius…" Dumbledore began, but Severus stopped him.

"Your Aurors will not be necessary, _Minister_ , My chambers are essentially empty. I will be gone within the hour."

Hermione shot up out of her place at the table, unable to sit still any longer. Harry tried in vain to grab for her, but only succeeded in grasping a fist full of useless robes. He sighed and stood up too.

"This…this isn't fair!" Hermione blurted out, her bottom lip started to tremble, "you vindictive old…"

"Miss Granger," Minerva entered the fray now with a warning tone, "sit down."

"Oh yes, Miss Granger," Fudge said maliciously, "we would hate anything terrible to happen to your _baby._ "

"Is that a threat?" Harry demanded.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter. I am merely showing concern for Miss Granger's health…and the health of her child."

Hermione looked rebellious and Harry feared that she might suddenly draw her wand. Instead she looked to Severus who responded by giving her a pleading look to be calm. Hermione then did something she never did, she burst into tears.

Severus sighed and realised that he was going to need to do something about it. He gave Minerva's hand a squeeze and stepped down from behind the High Table. He went to Hermione and gently grasped her shoulders.

"It's going to be alright," he said, "now go and get ready for your exam and I will meet you in Hogsmeade once you're finished."

"But, Severus, what about…"

"Don't worry about anything. Everything is fine, we are fine. I will go down to Hogsmeade, I have no doubt that Minerva will come with me, and I will meet you there later. Don't worry about this. It is not the end of the world."

She couldn't believe how calm he was. She wanted to shake him and scream at him to panic. He had lost his job. Everyone was staring at them. He was being humiliated! And then it struck her – he was not humiliated by being with her and he had to be calm, for her sake.

"Go and finish your exams," he said again.

And then Severus Snape walked quietly out of the Great Hall.

*****  
Please go to part 3


	58. All Things Must Pass Part 3

*****

Hermione was running down the corridor away from the Great Hall, wanting only to go somewhere to escape the open staring of the students around her. Harry was jogging along beside her, telling her to calm down and think of the baby.

She suddenly ground to a halt. "Oh God," she said, "Oh god, it's my fault, it's my fault…it's all my fault!"

"Hey," Lavender soothed gently, rubbing her back in a motherly way, "it's not your fault. Did you send a complaint to the Ministry? No of course you didn't."

"But…if I didn't pursue him…if I'd just left him alone…"

"Then he'd be a miserable git," Draco retorted, panting a little from the run. He scowled at Colin Creevy, who was almost in tears because Ginny Weasley had just won the entire 'Who's shagging Snape?' pool. She was demanding her winnings because she was leaving school that night, apparently she had some job that she was starting and the unexpected windfall was just what she needed to get started. Even Ginny didn't know that the pool was close to five thousand Galleons.

Hermione turned on Draco. "At least he'd be a miserable git with a job!" she screeched.

"Actually, he didn't look all that upset," Lavender said reasonably.

"He was probably relieved," Harry replied and then realised that he probably shouldn't have said that. What had happened with Krum was not something that anyone knew about. "He was probably sick of all the sneaking around," he finished, lamely trying to cover up his faux pas.

"This can't be happening," Hermione said, shaking her head in disbelief, "I've ruined his life."

"No you haven't!" Draco snapped irritably. "Fucking hell, do you think he was happy? He hated teaching, he always did. He hated teaching potions but he stayed because he was too lazy to go out and find something better!"

They all stared at him in astonishment.

"Well, maybe he's not lazy," Draco conceded, "but you see my point. He's incredibly talented, there's plenty he could do!"

Lavender and Harry were nodding in agreement and Hermione was looking at them as though they were thoroughly insane. She was almost five months pregnant and the father of that child was no suddenly without a profession!

Shameful visions of accepting charity bundles from Molly Weasley came unbidden to her brain. And then hope, the Weasley's had raised seven children with practically nothing, so surely they could raise one.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I think so," she sniffled.

"You'll be fine," he said, "Draco is right, Snape might be a sour faced old git, but he is talented. You never know, he might find a job that makes him happy."

"Yeah," Draco added, "I hear the Curatorship of the Museum is up for grabs."

Once again they all stared at him astonished.

"What? I'm not allowed to joke about it?"

And inexplicably Hermione started to laugh.

********

Lavender Apparated to London shortly after her friends went back in to the Great Hall to sit exams. She was eager to see the shop that her father had found for her and she met him in Diagon Ally outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour. She had taken great care with her dress. Her father was notoriously conservative and he preferred to see his daughter dressed in plain robes with no real adornment. Whilst Lavender would normally balk at the very idea of being seen in public looking for all intents and purposes like someone heading off to a convent, for the sake of her future she was prepared to do it now.

And the shop was perfect. Enid Broomsby, the most popular realtor in Diagon Ally was showing them through the space and Lavender was already imagining shelves filled with beautiful bottles and wonderful smells. The shop itself consisted of the shop front, two rooms at back with a kitchen and a toilet. There was also a flat upstairs that could be included in the lease if she wanted to live above it.

For Lavender it seemed perfect.

"Of course, the flat is completely furnished," Enid Broomsby said as soon as Lavender had shown any interest, "you wouldn't need to do anything to it."

The shop itself needed work however. A coat of paint. Shelves and cabinets and the front windows needed to be re-glazed. It was all within reach.

"How much is the weekly rent?" Milo Brown asked, being ever practical and bringing a frown to his daughters face.

"With the flat included it would come to three hundred and fifty galleons a week."

Lavender looked hopeful, it wasn't as much as she'd thought, but evidently her father wasn't impressed. He was asking what the minimum lease was and didn't appear happy when he was told that a year was the shortest lease they could provide.

"I will take at least that to get the place established, dad," Lavender told him; she was adding a counter and a cash register to her fantasy. "It's perfect. There is plenty of space and a workroom at the back as well as storage…" when he said nothing, she pressed on. "And I could live in the flat upstairs, so it really is a bargain."

"And how do you plan to pay the rent and all of you additional costs if these…products…don't sell?"

Lavender pursed her lips and reminded herself not to get on her high horse. "They will sell, dad. The test products I put in Madam Malkin's sold out within days and she has been asking for more."

"Yes, Lavender, but Madam Malkin is an established and respected business, people will buy from her because she is a trusted name. Why don't you start small, you could supply Madam Malkin until you become more established?"

Lavender watched as every tiny detail of her fantasy store disappeared like tiny soap bubbles popping in the air. "But dad, you said you would help me. We talked about this before school started, you promised you'd help me if I went back to school and passed NEWTS."

"I said I would help you, Lavender, but I also want to know that my money is not going down the drain."

"You wouldn't be! I will pay you back, dad. I know it's a risk, but you have to start somewhere."

"Half," he said, "I'll give you half what you need for the start up costs. If you are serious about opening the shop you will come up with the other half."

Lavender gaped at her father and didn't know how to handle it graciously. How was she supposed to come up with the other half? Hold up Grigotts? She had no idea that she could apply for a loan, and even if she did know then the idea of a business plan utterly evaded her. She could scarce believe that the likes of Fred and George Weasley could have left school and opened a shop and be successful business men right now – and she was having problems with set up costs.

"What about a business partner?" Her father suggested.

"But you're supposed to be my business partner!" Lavender wailed.

"Lavender, I work for the Ministry. I can't afford to be your business partner. I will give you half, that's my final offer."

Lavender scowled. Draco had money, and now that he and Harry appeared to be together again he might well be open to the possibility of loaning her some money – or becoming a business partner. She could at least ask him. His last exam finished at around two and she had no doubt that he would go down to The Three Broomsticks with Harry and Hermione to have a drink and see what was happening with Professor Snape.

The very talented Professor Snape. The very talented and unemployed Professor Snape. A smile began to grow as she doubted her ability to actually ask him. She had never had a conversation with him. Truth be told she was very much like the rest of the school, he kind of scared her. But perhaps he was receptive, and perhaps he could be reasoned with.

And perhaps he might give her half of what she needed.

******

"You really have to lift your head up off the table, Severus." Minerva really didn't know why she was telling him to sit up; she was having trouble keeping herself upright. As soon as his final trunk had been sent off to the Fenn and they had left the castle, the carefully constructed calm that he had kept around him crumbled like a pie crust. They had reached The Three Broomsticks before midday and had begun drinking a drinking binge that was now two hours old and he was drunker than she had ever seen him…and she had seen him pretty drunk.

She was getting more and more depressed as the day progressed. Who would have thought that she would miss that scowling face over breakfast so terribly?

"Severus, if you don't lift your head up Rosmerta will throw us out."

Severus mumbled something that sounded like "Hogs Head."

Minerva patted his back gently. "You told Hermione that you would be here."

At the mention of Hermione's name he lifted his head – and looked thoroughly shocked at his surroundings. "She'd work out where we'd gone," he said with the earnest sincerity of a drunk, "she's very clever you know."

"Yes dear," Minerva hiccupped, "I know she is very clever."

"Are you getting more drinks in then?" he asked her sincerely, "they cut me off last round."

Minerva arched an eyebrow, but she still pushed herself out of the booth and went to the bar. Rosmerta gave her a terrible look when she swore both drinks were for her and thankfully didn't comment on the fact that she had never had a firewhiskey in her life. When she returned to the table she found that Severus once again had his face on

"Drinks, Severus."

He lifted his head and down the whiskey horribly fast. "Oh Gods, what have I done?" he asked breathlessly.

"Destroyed your stomach lining springs to mind," Minerva said disgusted.

"I'm getting married," he said in horror, "I have a child coming and I have no job. Oh my god I'm going to have to hock the family furniture… _and it's not worth anything!"_

"Calm down, Severus."

"We're going to live in squalor," he wailed and banged his head on the table.

"Oh for goodness sake, Severus," Minerva scolded him as though he was a student, "you'll get another job. You are young and you have many skills that will make you very employable. I daresay that Albus will talk to Arthur and he will get you something at the Ministry."

Severus lifted his head again and revealed a nasty red spot on his forehead which Minerva was sure would turn into a bruise by the next morning. "Nothing with Muggles," he said desperately, "doesn't Weasley have a thing about Muggles?"

"I don't think Arthur would be fool enough to put you anywhere near Muggle relations." She sipped at her cherry brandy and felt a little sick. She decided it was best to slow down. She also decided that it would serve Arthur Weasley well to not let Severus near anyone, Muggle or otherwise – that was if Arthur would give him a job.

Of course he would, she told herself, Arthur would do it because Albus would ask him to.

Neither of them saw Lavender Brown enter the pub, look about until she saw them and make her way to the table. They didn't notice that she was there until she was standing at the table addressing them.

"Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, how are you this afternoon?"

Minerva jumped and Severus groaned and placed his head back on the table.

Lavender's bravado faltered for a moment as she looked at the mass of untidy black hair on the table, she looked uneasily to Minerva.

"Are exams finished?" Minerva asked sharply.

"Um, no. Well, they are for me, I finished yesterday – but Hermione is still in potions."

The very word brought a whine from the mass of hair.

"I was hoping to have a word with Professor Snape," she said, "but maybe he isn't feeling the best right now."

Minerva looked at Severus and then grabbed a handful of hair and lifted his head off the table. He looked at Lavender with bleary eyes. "Are you getting the drinks in then?" he slurred.

"Severus, I think you've had enough," Minerva said briskly.

"I'll have a firewhiskey," he continued and Lavender turned and made for the bar.

She decided that she would have to sober him up a little at least if she was to talk to him. She asked Madam Rosmerta to give her something that looked like firewhiskey but wasn't. Moments later she returned to the table with a Butter Beer for herself and a cold tea over ice for him.

"I've been to London," Lavender said brightly. She had just spent the last few hours convincing herself that she could talk to him, regardless of his drunken state she was not going to give up now.

"What is it with young people Apparating all over the country side?" Minerva asked, thankful for any conversation that didn't involve Severus bemoaning his life, "Once you get a few years behind you, Miss Brown, you will realise that Apparating is not such a brilliant choice for long distance travel. It does little more than deplete the strength of your magic for a good long while after. You should only use it for emergencies."

Lavender was taken aback. She had never considered that before. She had often wondered why so many people bothered with broomstick, carriages and buses when they could just pop here and there, now she knew. Then she scowled as she realised that she had been turned from her mission, albeit momentarily. "I'm opening a shop," she explained, putting herself back on track, "a perfume shop."

"Oh now that sounds lovely," Minerva said, impressed by her gumption.

"Thank you," Lavender said and smiled with pleasure, "well, that's why I went to London. I was looking at the shop space. It's a fantastic position, only a few doors down from Madam Malkin. My father is going to invest so that I can get it opened before Christmas."

At this Severus lifted his head off the table of his own volition. He knew Milo Brown (something Lavender was unaware of) and he knew that man had to open his arse to extract his wallet. The idea that he was going to invest in his daughter's foolhardy venture was utterly ridiculous – and something that ridiculous was going to cut through any drunken stupor Severus could get himself in. "Your father is not going to give you money to sell coloured water that people could make at home," he slurred.

"Well, not _everyone_ has time to brew their own fragrances, Professor," Lavender said diplomatically, "and not everyone is proficient in judging what scents go well together."

Severus just stared at her in disbelief.

"Oh pull your head out, Severus," Minerva scowled and shoved him in the shoulder. "You know how to throw a few things together and come up with something acceptable, but less than a quarter of our kind can brew a decent potion, and fewer still can make a decent scent."

Severus was now staring at Minerva with disbelief.

Minerva turned to Lavender. "Severus is of the opinion that once they leave school everyone sets up a little potions room in their home and brews everyday to keep their memories fresh. He conveniently forgets that he failed most of his students."

"I failed the dunderheads," he said in his own defence.

"You failed the majority of your students, Severus." Minerva turned back to Lavender. "I think it sounds like a lovely idea. Would you do soaps and lotions and things like that?"

"I was thinking that would be the way to go," Lavender said. "I put some sample gift packs and fragrances in Madam Malkin's last summer and they sold out. I tried to keep up to her demand, but I got bogged down with school. But I took that as a promising start. What Madam Malkin said would work really well would be to sell a lot of basics, but her more wealthy clients wanted to know if they could get some quality high end perfumes." She looked meaningfully at the dishevelled Professor who had just drunk his cold tea and was looking at the empty glass as though he had just consumed poison. "And while I am very good at doing the basics – I can't make fragrances like you do."

Severus looked confused for a moment and then realisation dawned on his face. "Oh…no no no. There is just no…absolutely not…"

"But sir, hear me out first…"

"There is nothing to hear out." He was sobering up very fast now and Lavender found that her heartbeat was speeding up with him. "I am _not_ doing that!"

"But Sir, there is money in it, I swear to you. You could work out the back, there is a good space for a work room…or you could even work at home. Hermione says you have an amazing garden at your house…"

Severus was looking increasingly horrified.

"And you could work alone, you wouldn't have to deal with customers or anything, I will handle that side of it."

"I am not working for you brewing perfume, Miss Brown. I am eminently employable and I expect an offer from the Ministry very soon."

It was Minerva's turn to look at him with disbelief.

"I am not asking you to work for me, Professor. I'm asking you to come and work with me. We could be partners. My father is going to give me half the start up costs and…"

Oh," he began to smile nastily, "you want _money._ "

Lavender swallowed. "Well…that is part of it…but I am more interested in your talents…"

"I don't _have_ any money."

Lavender fell silent.

"You could get a loan," Minerva said brightly. "Gringotts would give you a loan."

"Gringotts is not going to give her a bloody loan," Severus said silkily.

"Well perhaps not, but they would give both of you a loan."

His eyes widened. "You cannot be agreeing with this madness!"

"What is so mad about it?" Minerva asked plainly, "it is an excellent idea. You just got through moaning about not wanting to work for the Ministry."

"I said I didn't want to work with Muggles!"

"Lavender is giving you the opportunity to work by yourself! You wouldn't even have to leave your house!"

"Do I have to remind you that I have a child coming in a matter of months? Investing money that I don't have in a business that may or may not turn a profit might not be the wisest career choice just yet."

"Oh stop hiding Severus. You're not going to starve while you live next door to Draco Malfoy."

"And now you want me to accept charity?"

"Oh for goodness sake…"

Lavender watched them argue, wanting nothing more than to hug and kiss Minerva McGonagall all over. She had a wonderful way of being able to cut him off at every turn. Had it been Lavender alone she would have run away by now.

"Hermione would want you to do something that makes you happy," Minerva retorted to his latest argument.

"And you think making perfume is going to make me happy?" He asked incredulous.

"Yes! That is what you have always done for relaxation…"

"No I bloody didn't!"

"Yes you bloody did!"

"I am more likely to fucking wank for relaxation than make fucking perfume!"

Lavender spat her Butter Beer all over the table.

"I don't particularly care about your masturbatory habits, Severus, but I can assure you that you made perfumes for relaxations," Minerva replied unfazed.

"Don't you tell me what I did when I didn't…old woman!"

Minerva hit him over the head.

"Wow, first he gets sacked and now he's being beaten by a woman." Draco grinned at the very sight of it as he approached the table.

"Why is she hitting him?" Hermione rushed over with a look of horror while Harry shook his head and propelled himself and Draco to the table after her.

One sniff told Hermione that he had been drinking quite a lot.

"Well look," Minerva said sweetly, "Hermione is here now; she can tell us what she thinks of the idea."

"What idea?" Hermione slipped into the booth beside him, concerned that her beloved was being assaulted – by a 79 year old woman.

"Lavender was suggesting that Severus create perfumes…"

"Oooh, for her shop?" Hermione asked, "That's a fantastic idea!"

"Oh god not you too." Severus returned his head to the table, deciding that this was just too awful to be part of.

"Well more than that," Lavender explained excitedly, "I was suggesting that we become partners in the shop. We would have to get a loan from Gringotts, but don't you think it would be great? He could work from home!"

Hermione prodded him; "doesn't that sound fabulous, Severus?"

"I'll give you the money," Draco said as he sat down, "why go to Gringotts?"

Severus lifted his head. "Good, you give her the money and leave me out of it."

"Oh no, I'd want you to be involved. I'm not leaving my investment in the hands of Lavender."

While Lavender looked indignant, Severus was shaking his head. "I am not taking your money!"

"I'd be loaning it to you," Draco said with a shrug, "It can't be much can it? How much do you need?"

"About five thousand," Lavender told him with a grimace. It was a lot of money and she expected Draco to scoff at it. When he shrugged again and said that it was fine, she wished that she'd asked for more.

Severus was not so easily pleased however. "So you won't give her the money unless I am involved?"

"That's right."

"Well it doesn't look like Miss Brown will be getting a business partner then, does it?"

Lavender could have cried then and there.

A small army of voices began berating him to reconsider until he eventually struggled out of the booth and staggered to a stand.

"You are all insane!" He declared. "I have had a _really_ bad day and I am _really_ drunk and you insane people are making it worse. I'm going home."

"Severus…" Hermione pleaded.

"Hermione, I love you, I'm going home." He staggered towards the door.

"Severus," Minerva called, "you should take the floo system – you're far too drunk to Apparate."

He turned from the door and headed for the fireplace. He would at least take that piece of advice.

*******

Arthur Weasley stood with Dumbledore at the formal front gates of Hogwarts early Monday morning to watch the heavy grey Ministry carriage trundle out. Dumbledore had allowed two of the schools thestrals to be used for the journey, using the reasoning that the thestrals were faster that any of the magical beasts the Ministry used to drag carriages. He had a hidden agenda, however. Thestrals were highly intelligent and if Fudge decided to keep Lucius Malfoy's location a secret from the incoming Minister, then the thestrals could lead them back.

He need not have worried. One of the Aurors sent to take Lucius from the castle to his place of exile was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Inside the carriage, Lucius was sitting nervously opposite the two Aurors. He had no idea who was a good Auror and who would tear him limb from limb the moment they were out of sight of the castle, and so he did not relax in the knowledge that the tall black wizard would be there to protect him on his journey. He looked out of the window at the two men who had come to see him off. There was no point saying good bye, he doubted that either would wish him luck.

Ten years in exile. All he had to do was survive them. And then what? Would Draco soften in ten years? He wondered if he could survive in the Muggle world alone.

Draco appeared from the darkness of the castle walls. He looked at the carriage and caught his father's eye. Dumbledore held up a hand and the carriage stopped. Draco hurried to the door and pulled it open.

"Ten years," Draco said breathlessly.

Lucius forced a smile.

"You have to get through them."

"I'll be fine, Draco."

Draco climbed up into the carriage itself and threw his arms around his father's neck. "You have to get through them," he said again.

"I will, Draco, I promise."

Draco sniffled into his father's chest and Lucius held him tight. This was all Lucius wanted. He could go now. His son loved him and that was all that mattered.

Kingsley put a firm but gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. He was not a fan of the Malfoy family, but Draco was precious to Harry, and he did care a great deal about Harry.

"Time to go," Lucius said softly and smiled at his son. "Breakfast will start soon won't it?"

Draco sniffled and nodded.

"Go and eat too much and I'll see you in ten years." It seemed a stupid thing for Lucius to say by way of goodbye, but it was too late now for conversation. He had to be jovial, he had to hide his fear and protect the only person he had left who he truly loved.

Draco nodded again and backed away, climbing down from the carriage trying hard not to allow Lucius to see him cry any more than he had to.

"I love you," he said before Kingsley could pull the door shut.

"I love you too, Draco. Go back inside sweetheart, it's getting cold."

But Draco stayed and watched as the carriage pulled away, racing off down the road and then lifting into the darkening sky. He stood there for a long time, staring at the spot in the sky where the carriage with his father had disappeared and wondering if the empty feeling in his stomach would ever feel full again.

******

Harry closed his trunk with a strange feeling of regret and then stared around the room he had inhabited for much of the year. It was more than just a room now. This room represented Hogwarts and the last eight years of his life. Eight years that had taken him from a mistreated child to the man he now was. Now it was time to leave. He would not be returning to Privet Drive. While his summer spent at Grimmauld Place last year had felt very much like a holiday he would now be going to Wilshire to the place he would live out his life. Hogwarts was finally finished for Harry Potter.

He looked at the stone walls and wondered how many lives they had seen pass through them. He was just one more wizard who had grown strong here.

Draco tapped gently on the door frame. "Ready to go?"

Harry turned and looked at his lover. And Draco was his lover once again. They had slept curled around each other since the night Draco had arrived at his door, and then last night they had made love. Harry was still feeling a little high from the experience.

"You didn't come to breakfast," Harry said, "did you see your father?"

"Yeah. They took him early. I just couldn't eat after that."

"He'll be alright. Mr Weasley will make sure that he's safe."

Draco smiled ruefully. "Yeah, but Weasley doesn't become Minister until the first. So dad has to survive until Thursday at least."

"Your dad is pretty strong. I mean, when I brought him back from the Museum we all thought he was going to die. He was just skin and bones and he was all torn up, but he got through it…and he'll get through this." Harry wasn't entirely sure if his words of comfort were particularly good, but Draco kissed him gently and he didn't worry that he's said anything wrong.

"Hermione is waiting at the door with her trunk."

Harry laughed. "She thinks that if we get to the train early it will leave early and we will get to London early, and for some reason she misses that old buzzard."

"Yeah, well, the old buzzard is going to meet us at the station and take us home."

"Well, actually," Harry faltered, "actually, Ron and Pansy are going to be there too and I thought we might all go to Grimmauld Place before heading out to Wilshire."

"To Grimmauld Place?" Draco looked a little panicked, "For how long?"

"Only for the night. Mrs. Weasley is going to make dinner and we can go in the morning…we could catch the Knight Bus."

"So Hermione isn't invited?"

"Well yes she is, but I can't see Snape accepting that invitation, can you?" Harry looked around the room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. "I know you don't want to go to London let alone stay there overnight, but I will make sure you can't hear the traffic or the sirens and I'll make sure that the room is really dark. You'll be able to sleep, I promise."

"Do I have much of a choice?"

"Of course you do. If you don't want to stay then we will go straight home."

Which of course meant that he had to stay the night in London. Draco sighed and agreed to stay at Grimmauld Place for one night.

Harry picked up his broom and held it out to Draco; "Can you carry this downstairs for me."

Draco looked at the broom as though Harry had lost his mind. "Carry your broom? Who do you think I am, your House Elf?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tucked the broom under his arm before lifting the end of his trunk. "I assume all of your things are downstairs already?"

"Yep."

"And where's your cat?"

"In her basket, also downstairs."

Harry started dragging his trunk towards the door and Draco picked up the other end of it. Harry didn't quite understand why he wouldn't carry the broom yet he'd grab the end of a trunk, but he wasn't going to complain. "How was your dad when you saw him?" he asked.

"Weird, he was acting very peculiar. He told me to go and eat breakfast and he'd see me in ten years."

"He was probably putting on a brave face," Harry panted. Had the trunk always been this heavy?

"Probably. And in ten years he'll be coming home to the manor. How will you cope with that?"

In all honesty Harry didn't know, but he figured that he had ten years to get used to the idea, and at that moment ten years seemed a lifetime away. He was also rather pleased that Draco was fully expecting them to be together in ten years time. It gave him an optimism that he'd never really had before.

Draco stopped in his tracks, refusing to move forward until Harry gave him some kind of answer.

"In ten years, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine with it."

"In ten years eh?" Draco grinned.

"In ten years," Harry agreed, "I figure we'll be wise old men by then."

"Ten years? Oh yes, wise old men of 29. Crotchety old things with walking frames and everything."

They continued down the stairs to where all of the trunks had been stacked, waiting to be taken to the station. Hermione was, as Draco had warned, waiting at the door with Crookshanks. Miss Kitty was in her basket hissing at the giant ginger cat.

"Oh Draco, I am so sorry!" Hermione looked thoroughly distressed.

"What? What happened?" Draco looked around, everything seemed normal.

"I let Miss Kitty out, she wasn't happy in her basket…and she…well I didn't know that she was in heat…"

Draco's eyes widened.

"And Crookshanks…well…I mean, he was only following his instincts…"

"You mean he…?"

"I'm so sorry!"

Draco lifted Miss Kitty's basket and looked in at his very upset girl. "Oh baby, did that big mean… _thing_ …hurt you?" He looked at Hermione, "You should get that thing desexed!"

"It's not Crookshanks fault! You should have known she was in heat!"

"Well it's not as though I'm an expert in cats, and she wasn't bleeding or making that weird noise that cats make when they want some…and you let her out of her basket!"

"So what happened?" Harry asked stupidly.

"That big ginger thing raped my cat!"

"Well I would hardly call it rape." Hermione patted Crookshanks soothingly.

Draco clutched Miss Kitty's basket tightly and scowled at Crookshanks as though he was the devil. He kept the scowl in place until long after they were on the train and moving in the direction of home.

The train left Hogsmeade Station right on time and while Hermione and Harry felt a little strange that Ron was not with them, they could both look at the friends they were there with and be happy.

Draco was staring out the window, watching the world rush past him and Harry wasn't sure if he was thinking about his father or his cat. Watching him, Harry was acutely aware that he could well have lost him and that this ride back to London could have been very different. He could have been miserable but he was not, just as Hermione could have been miserable but she was not. Things had worked for them and Harry could scarce believe it.

The thought that they were only eighteen and that they still had a lot of life left to screw up played in his head for a moment and he forced it down. They were happy now and he couldn't let fear ruin that. They could be happy forever, they didn't know.

Lavender had papers strewn all over the seat beside her and was shaking her head in dismay. "I don't get this," she said irritably, "Goblins just write gobbledygook, it makes no sense at all!"

Hermione looked at the papers, documents from Gringotts for her business loan. "It does make sense, Lav. There are a lot of clauses, that's all. They are loaning five thousand galleons and they want to make sure you are going to pay them back."

"Oh I'm going to be paying them back," Lavender said, "these documents have Severus Snape's name on them, he'll kill me if I fuck it up."

Severus Snape had woken on Friday morning to a nasty hangover and an owl from Arthur Weasley offering him the Curatorship of the Museum of Magical Arts and Antiquities. The very idea of it propelled Severus into action. He met with Milo Brown that very morning, viewed the shop, put together a business plan over a coffee at the Leaky Cauldron and was at Gringotts to apply for the loan that afternoon. The first thing Lavender had heard about it was when the loan documents arrived at Hogwarts by owl on Saturday morning for her to sign. She had been trying to decipher them for the last two days.

Lavender finally gave in and decided to trust Snape's instinct. She signed her name beside the red X's he had placed on each page. "God I hope this works," she murmured softly.

"You said it was going to work," Hermione said, "you said you were 110% sure this was going to work!"

"It is going to work," Lavender protested, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to have a moment of doubt in front of you."

"Good, now don't do it again." Hermione turned to look out the window, the seed of doubt planted.

"People will pay for them," Draco said, pulling his attention away from the landscape passing them by. "It's a sound idea. He is really talented and you'll make money from it. I don't know why he wouldn't accept my offer though. I wouldn't charge interest and I'd give you longer to pay it back."

"He doesn't think he should borrow money from friends," Hermione said crisply.

"I'm not a friend, I'm his Godson."

"You are a _friend_ and you're my friend at the very least. Besides, Lavender says they'll be able to pay the loan back quickly, so I'm not worried at all."

They all exchanged dubious glances and then looked at the floor.

*******

It was getting late when the Hogwarts Express slowed into Kings Cross Station and Hermione was sleeping with her head against Harry's shoulder. Draco had moved seats several times and was currently beside Lavender, dozing with his head against the window. Harry was finishing the last of the cauldron cakes and Lavender had just had the misfortune of getting a vomit flavoured Bertie Botts Bean and was gagging. There was no juice left and Harry was afraid that Lavender was going to throw up all over Draco's lap.

"I'm pretty sure there's a drink machine at the station," Harry told her.

"That's just great," Lavender dry wretched, "do you have any Muggle money?"

"No, but a knut is about the same size as a Muggle pound coin and the machines accept them."

Lavender stared at him in amazement, momentarily forgetting that she had a foul taste in her mouth. "You're a real little criminal, you know that?"

"I've been told," Harry grinned.

The train was slowing, steam escaping across the platform and they chugged slowly past Ron who was looking his usual lanky self and Harry felt his grin widen. He almost laughed when he noticed that Pansy was opening a can of coke and offering a mouthful to Ron. He nudged Lavender and pointed at the drink in Pansy's hand, and much to Harry's horrified amusement Lavender, who had never said more than two words to Pansy Parkinson in her life, suddenly wrenched open the window, dislodging Draco entirely and crying out "Pansy, don't drink all of that, I need some!"

Pansy almost dropped the can in surprise and Hermione woke with a start.

Lavender scooped up her rolls of parchment and ran out the door and down the corridor, determined to be the first person off the train when it finally came to a stop.

Harry craned his neck as the train passed Ron and noticed Snape hovering close by trying to make himself invisible to the curious adults gathering to collect their children. Ron made the first move and Harry watched as the tall redhead slouched over to his former Potions Master to say something.

Then the train stopped and by the time Harry, Hermione and Draco had reached them, Lavender had already guzzled most of Pansy's drink. Pansy was standing back looking a little frightened.

"Are you quite finished?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry," Lavender explained, "I just ate the worst Bertie Botts bean. It was _vomit flavoured_ and I ate it!"

"I have no idea why young people insist on eating those things," Severus said silkily, venturing closer to the little group.

Lavender looked her new business partner up and down and decided that he was nowhere near as intimidating as he used to be. Perhaps it was because he wasn't wearing his black robes, or perhaps it was that dreadful Muggle jumper. "I think Hermione has a pocket full of Fizzing Whizzbees for you, _Severus._ "

If she was hoping for him to be gruff she was to be sorely disappointed. Severus was on his best behaviour. He had promised Hermione that he would make an effort with her friends and he planned to at least try. Lavender Brown was also about to become his business partner, it would be foolish for them to not speak at all. "Did you sign those documents?" He asked.

"Yep. Here you go." She handed him the various scrunched scrolls and he resisted the urge to say something about the state of them.

Hermione edged past Lavender and wrapped her arms around his waist with a yawn.

"Did you get some sleep on the train?" he asked, hugging her back and pressing a kiss into her soft hair.

"A little bit. How long is it going to take to get home? I'll get some more sleep in the car."

Ron was staring and shaking his head. He looked over at Harry and longed to say something about the sight of seeing Hermione hugging Snape being a little sick, but he didn't need to. Harry mouthed "I know" to him and rolled his eyes. They would just have to get used to the idea that Snape could be civil when he tried and the fact that their very good friend was going to be with him for a very long time.

"Actually, Mr Weasley has invited us to Grimmauld Place for dinner. Apparently his mother has made a great deal of food." He looked past Hermione's bushy curls to where Draco was rubbing his eyes. "And if I know Draco well enough, I would say he ate nothing on the train and I have no intention of getting half way home only to have him go into a fit on the back seat."

Draco scowled but had to concede the point.

"Mums expecting all of us," Ron explained, "and Pansy helped."

They were all fortunate enough not to know what that meant and they were all hungry for some proper food.

"How are we getting there?" Pansy asked shyly. "Ron and I Apparated, but Hermione can't…can she?"

"I have a car," Severus said, "I will bring Hermione and Draco if you all want to go on ahead."

"You can come too, Lav, if you like." Ron extended the invitation that was so obviously expected of him. He had no idea that Harry and Hermione had become so close to her, but then, it had been a pretty big year.

"I can't, sorry," Lavender offered up a big smile, "my mum and dad are waiting for me…but we should catch up. I'm moving to London soon, I'll be just up from your brothers."

"Oh cool, another time then?"

"There'll be plenty of us anyway," Harry ventured, "I mean, Ginny will be there, and I'd say your mum invited…George…"

Ron and Pansy exchanged looks.

"Well, yes, George is coming…but Ginny…Ginny has gotten herself a job…and mum and dad are not happy about it…so she hasn't been invited."

"The way Molly and Arthur freaked out, I don't know if she would come even if she had been invited," Pansy said. "It was really scary."

Ron flushed a little.

"Why?" Hermione asked and fearing the worst, "What is she doing?"

"She's not at Madam Maison's is she?" Lavender asked, referring to the brothel in Hogsmeade and then flushing at the horrified looks from her friends.

"Err…no…" Ron was looking as though Madam Maison's would have been a blessing.

"What's she doing?" Harry asked, deciding it had to be something pretty bad.

"Let's go home," Ron said in a strangled voice, "I have no doubt my mum will tell you over dinner." And then he smiled, because he suddenly realised that despite his sisters' wayward life, they had come through it all. "Let's go home," Ron said again, "Let's get some champagne and celebrate."

Harry grinned and grabbed Draco's hand as they started off towards the gateway back to the Muggle world. "Yeah, let's have a fucking party!"

*******

Lucius Malfoy was cold. Too cold. He was well aware that a warming charm had been placed over the carriage, but he did not feel it. He had wondered briefly if it was fear that was chilling him, but he'd dismissed it quickly when he glimpsed the first traces of snow.

They had been travelling for hours, the carriage sluicing unnoticed through the sky as it spirited him away to wherever in the world he was going. He could not tell what direction they had taken but now thought that they must have been going north. Or south. There was ice south wasn't there? But not like this. There was no colour outside now. There was no richness of earth and trees, nothing green or brown or blue. There was only white outside. The world here was covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice.

Where were they taking him?

Far off in the distance he could see a storm, a blizzard perhaps, and they were heading towards it. They were sending him somewhere that had blizzards. Would the accommodation be suitable? Was he to live in something akin to an igloo?

He needed one of those big coats made of animal skin like the Eskimos wore. He needed something if he wasn't going to freeze to death. He had never considered that his magic had been responsible for keeping him warm or cool. It was as though the loss of it had removed an intrinsic part of himself. The part that kept him warm, or told him what direction he was facing. He had lost his powers to be sure, but somehow he had lost more than that. He wondered if he would ever get it back again.

They must be going north. He had visited Iceland as a child and he was certain that this place looked similar, but they were certainly not heading towards any civilised area that he could see. Looking down at the ground he found that he could see little at all. They were sending him to some remote place. Somewhere that no one could find him.

Somewhere that had blizzards.

A shift in the carriage told him that they were heading now towards the ground. Somewhere down in all that white was the place he was going to live.

But there was nothing down there. What could possibly be down there? A cave? An Ice cavern? Were such places habitable in this kind of cold?

There would be someone else there too. An Auror or someone else of their ilk. So there had to be something habitable down there.

The Aurors had not said a word to him, although he could sense that the black one was more receptive to conversation than the white one. The white one looked a little mean and he would not be surprised to know that he had once spat on Draco at a party.

Lucius looked out the window again and realised that they were getting closer to the ground. The carriage was being buffeted by winds and he felt sick suddenly. His stomach rolled at the prospect of getting out of the carriage and heading into Merlin only knew what. He took a deep breath, inhaling sharply through his nose and feeling his nostrils flare. He began to fidget, as he always did when he was nervous. He straightened his robes, flattened his hair and looked out the window.

What if they hurt him? Could he stand it? He would have to. He had to last. He had promised Draco that he would come back and he had always made a habit of keeping the promises he made his son.

But he'd had enough pain to last a thousand lifetimes.

They hit the ground hard and the carriage slowed quickly, grinding to a halt in the snow. Lucius looked again out the window and saw nothing. He quickly swivelled around to see out the other side of the carriage and found nothing there either.

Kingsley swung the door open and climbed out. "This is it, Lucius," he said.

Lucius wanted to say that there was nothing there, that they must have made a mistake, but the mean looking wizard still in the carriage looked as though he would love an excuse to slap him, so he climbed out into the icy wind.

He instantly began to shake. It was colder than he could ever have imagined and the wind that whipped around him felt as though it would cut through him as easily as a blade. The skin on his face and hands reddened and began to sting within seconds, and his feet, sinking slowly into the snow, began to freeze.

Kingsley got back into the carriage and Lucius began to panic. "There's nothing here!" he shouted over the wind and Kingsley gave him a regretful look before the carriage pulled away. Lucius looked around him, terror creeping over his body. They were just leaving him there! How long did it take to freeze to death? It couldn't take long, especially since he was wearing summer weight robes. A matter of minutes perhaps. He hoped it would be that quick. He didn't want it to be long and drawn out.

The storm he had noticed earlier was moving closer, so he reasoned that if the cold didn't kill him then the storm would.

He turned in a circle on the spot and when he finished, filled with despair, a tiny wooden cottage appeared from out of the sea of white. He swallowed hard.

A door opened and a figure, hooded and cloaked, appeared in the frame. He hesitated, wondering if it would be better to stay out in the snow and freeze. But his body wouldn't allow it. He instinctively made for the warmth that must be in the cottage, his frozen feet stumbling every few steps, and when he reached the door the figure stepped aside to let him in.

It was warm. Wonderfully warm. A fire was blazing in the stone hearth. Something was cooking, something that smelled like soup or stew or something that would be wonderfully nourishing in the face of the cold. He didn't know if he was allowed any of it, but he decided that he was willing to beg.

"I wasn't allowed to help you inside," his companion said, "but I knew you'd make it."

He was still shivering in his damp robes, but he spun very fast at the sound of the voice. He frowned, and then she pushed the hood away from her face.

"Are you surprised?" She asked and when he mutely nodded she added; "I hope it is a pleasant one."

He couldn't speak, but everything was falling into place. Arthur Weasley didn't care about him, so why would Fudge have Lucius killed to get back at Weasley? Not when this was a thousand times more effective.

"I can't remember your name," he said politely, deciding that it would serve him well to be nice to her. "I'm sorry."

"That's alright, Lucius. My name is Ginny."

He stared at her in wonder. She was pretty, Autumnal, with russet red hair that went to her waist and a finely boned face. Why would she do this? Why would she do this to her family?

He was hardly going to complain.

"There is a change of clothes for you in the bedroom, Lucius. Why don't you go and get changed and I will get you something to eat. We need to sit down and get to know each other better. In fact I think we are going to get to know each other very well indeed."

*******

THE END

********

NOTES:

Epilogue to come…

Thanks to Skintwo who stepped up and beta'd this when no one else would! 


	59. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

September 1st 2011

Roan Snape was silent as he sat at the back of the small boat that was gliding across the glassy lake towards the great castle that loomed over him, seemingly built into the very mountain that gave it its great elevation. He had not been cowed into silence by awe of the place. He was silent because he was predisposed to it – but everybody else in the boat was quiet too, eerily so, as they sailed nearer and nearer the cliff that hung dark and cold over the lake.

"Everybody put your heads down please!" Professor Grubblyplank called out across the lake. The Professor had met them all at Hogsmeade Station and had shown them to the boats. Roan had wondered what would have happened if it had rained. Would they still be in the boat? He quickly put his head down as they sailed through a curtain of ivy that hid the entrance to an underground harbor. Roan realized that it must be directly under the castle itself.

Everyone clambered out of the boats as soon as they reached the pebbled shore. They poured over the rocks and up towards the steps where Professor Grubblyplank had somehow managed to place herself without looking as though she had taken any trouble at all to get there. Upon ensuring that everyone was indeed gathered around, she turned and knocked three times on the door behind her.

Unlike the other first years, Roan had been to Hogwarts castle before. He had come on any number of occasions, mostly to sit in the Head Mistresses room and play with whatever toys he could lay his hands on whilst daddy caught up with Aunty Minerva.

He silently chastised himself, he was eleven years old and at school now, far too old to be calling daddy, well, _daddy_.

When the door opened behind Professor Grubblyplank, a tall slender witch in dark red robes and shining black hair looked over the group with a critical eye.

"The first years for you, Professor Delancet. Lovely evening isn't it?"

"An excellent evening, Professor Grubblyplank. I trust you had a good trip across the lake?"

"Exceptionally good, and no one overboard – an improvement on last year!"

Professor Delancet smiled briefly. She was a friend of Roan's father, and whilst he had been introduced to her in the past, he could not say that he had ever spoken to her. Whenever he had been in her presence he had been overcome with shyness and had hidden securely behind his daddy's leg while Rhiannon ran riot and entranced everyone with her giggle and huge dark eyes. At four years his junior, his sister did not share his apparent problems with meeting people. And Professor Delancet was just so very…beautiful.

He felt himself flush just thinking about her.

"Wow, isn't she gorgeous?" hissed a boy who had shared the boat with him. Roan smiled awkwardly. It wasn't as though he wasn't good at smiling, he smiled a lot at home, but in the company of those he did not know well he felt awkward and out of place and smiling seemed the least of his concerns. But the awkwardness of the smile did not seem to faze the boy in the slightest as he stuck out his hand in greeting. "Aurelius," he said in a friendly way, "Aurelius Wood."

"Roan Snape," Roan replied, so quietly that Aurelius could well have missed it.

Aurelius grinned and returned his gaze to Professor Delancet who was instructing everyone to follow her into the castle. "I wonder what she teaches?" he said a little dreamily.

"Defense against the Dark Arts," Roan told him, glad to be able to say at least one thing of interest; but when Aurelius gave him a questioning look he knew he would have to explain. "My mother is a teacher here."

Aurelius looked very much as though he would ask what his mother taught, but before he could open his mouth Professor Delancet was calling for silence. They followed her across the flagstones of the entrance hall and from somewhere Roan could hear the babble of voices that he was certain must be the other students. The thought of them made him shiver. Roan was not one to babble, he never had been. It did not seem to matter how much his parents tried to get him to talk more, he was just naturally quiet. Daddy always took his part in that argument. Daddy always said that mummy's friends had a terrible habit of talking all too much. Then again, Aunty Minerva was daddy's friend and Roan often thought she would never stop! Roan would rather listen than contribute to a conversation – and he was very good at listening. As far as Roan was concerned, you could learn far more by listening to what everyone has to say than by babbling like an idiot…or at least that was how his father put it.

The first years were shown into a small chamber where they were forced to crowd together. The closeness only added to the collective nervousness and Roan was beginning to feel very much like a lamb going to the slaughter house.

Unexpectedly he found himself smiling. When he was four he had walked to the local Muggle village with daddy. They were going to have cake at the local tea shop, mostly because mummy, who was still nursing Rhiannon, had begged them to give her some peace and quiet. As he'd clutched his daddy's hand a large truck passed them and it was crammed full of lambs, so full that they looked as though they would all be squashed. It was very smelly and he'd wrinkled his nose before asking daddy where the Muggles were taking the lambs. No sooner had daddy explained that they were all going to the slaughter house to be made into lamb chops then the truck broke down and all the lambs escaped into the nearby fields (and miraculously turned up in Uncle Draco's front garden several hours later, pooing on everything and making Uncle Harry slip over when he came home from the Ministry). Daddy had laughed so hard that he'd had to sit down in the grass on the side of the road. That was the first time anyone could recall Roan doing magic.

"I would like to welcome you all to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Professor Delancet said clearly, drawing Roan's attention back to the room and the awful closed in feeling he had. "Each year begins with a start of term banquet that will begin very soon, but before that happens you must be sorted into your houses. Very soon you will be taken into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony and you will each be sorted into your house. While you are a student here at Hogwarts you will discover that your house is like your family away from home. You will have classes with your housemates, sleep in the house dormitories and when you have free time you will spend it in your house common room. You will also be given the opportunity to compete in various activities as part of a house team.

The four houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each house is very old and each has a long and noble tradition. Each house has produced witches and wizards of note and of course outstanding ability…"

"Yeah, but Harry Potter was a Gryffindor!" A pudding faced boy interrupted and a few people laughed nervously at his daring.

Professor Delancet's eyes narrowed a little. "You look like a Longbottom," she said and when the boy nodded the Professor pursed her lips a little. "Well, thank you Mr. Longbottom, but I am sure I can finish this without your assistance. You are correct, Harry Potter was in Gryffindor and as you can imagine he earned his house many points and accolades. While you are here you will have the same opportunities. When you do well you will receive points for your house, but when you break the school rules, you will lose them. At the end of the year the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup and this is a great honor for the house that wins.

Now, I will leave you to ready yourselves and I will be back when we are ready for you to come in for the ceremony."

Once she left the chamber a quick rush of chatter swept through the group.

"How do they do the Sorting?" A girl with strawberry blonde hair asked, "They aren't going to ask us to do any magic are they?"

"Of course not," another girl replied. She had a narrow face with sharp features and almond shaped blue eyes. She might well have been pretty had she not looked so spiteful. "If we had to do magic all the Muggleborns would end up in Hufflepuff – or out the door where they belong."

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff," Aurelius said a little too loudly, "my mother was a Hufflepuff and she is high up in the Ministry!"

The spiteful girl sneered and when she caught Roan's eye she turned away.

"My dad was a Gryffindor Quidditch Captain," Aurelius added to Roan, "what about your parents?"

Roan shuffled and scowled and looked very much like his father. A few people were looking at him and waiting for him to answer the terribly loud Aurelius. "My mum (he was very carefully not to say mummy) was in Gryffindor and my dad was in Slytherin."

"Now there is a noble house," the spiteful girl said, shoving the Longbottom boy aside. "A Gryffindor and a Slytherin eh? Let's hope you take after your father's side of the family." Her eyes narrowed, "What did you say your name was?"

"Roan…" Roan's voice was suddenly so soft that the girl had to strain to hear, "Snape."

The girl stood back and her eyes widened. "You father is a blood traitor," she spat, "and your mother's a Mudblood, I know all about you!"

Roan had the urge to turn and flee out the door, not quite believing that he had managed to make an enemy so very fast. His own eyes widened and he very nearly came out with a spell that Uncle Draco had taught him over the summer. He refrained from uttering the words, because daddy always told him that restraint was paramount. Then again, had daddy heard the girl call mummy a Mudblood he probably would have hexed her himself. Roan was beginning to wish he could have stayed at home. He had not wanted to come in the first place. He had wanted to wait another year so that he could start with Charlie and Lily. Uncle Ron and Aunty Pansy had tried to argue Roan's cause, reasoning that if he started the following year with their twins then at least he would have friends with him. Roan's parents were adamant that he would go however. He was already a few months older than many of the children starting this year; it would be foolish to wait another.

He wondered what Rhiannon was doing now. She was probably eating dinner with their father, or perhaps daddy had taken her to see Uncle Draco's father for dinner. Daddy had once told him that Mr. Malfoy had once been a very powerful wizard but Roan had found it very hard to believe. Mr. Malfoy didn't seem to have any powers at all. He even went out and did his gardening with a little shovel! Roan and Rhiannon had laughed the first time they had seen him at it, but then he had made them help him and it was marvelous fun. Mummy had declared that if he was going to get them both so filthy he could clean them before he sent them home.

Mr. Malfoy had only lived at the Manor for a year or so. Before that, he had been in exile as some kind of punishment. He had arrived at the Manor with a beautiful woman who Roan was quickly told was Uncle Ron's sister. Roan didn't even know Uncle Ron had a sister! Her name was Ginny and she had once been Uncle Harry's girlfriend – something that had made Roan laugh because Uncle Harry _never_ had girlfriends.

"Alright, are you all ready then?" Professor Delancet had returned and had startled a few people by her sudden appearance. She waved her arms vaguely. "Everyone form a line please, in pairs and follow me."

Roan fell instantly in beside Aurelius Wood, deciding that Aurelius had spoken to him so he wouldn't mind walking in with him.

Roan had never been in the Great Hall before and he could not help but look around in wonder. He gladly noted that he wasn't the only one and for a moment he managed to forget that he was feeling quite sick. Thousands of candles floated in the air over four long tables where the other students were all sitting, staring at the first years with interest and amusement. Roan looked up at the sky above them and he smiled to himself, because mummy and daddy had a night sky just like it in their bedroom at home.

"That's amazing," a girl behind him whispered. "If there's no roof in here…how do they keep the rain out?"

"It's a spell," Roan said, speaking before he thought for the first time in his life. "It's just bewitched to look like the night sky."

"How do you know that?" Aurelius asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"I read about it, in Hogwarts, A History."

At the head of the room the teachers sat at the High Table and Roan purposely avoided looking at it, as he didn't want to have an attack of nerves in front of his mother.

Professor Delancet placed an old four-legged stool in front of the teachers' table and on top of the stool she placed a worn and grubby looking wizard's hat. It looked in worse shape than daddy's, and daddy's was pretty bad.

But what was the hat for? They had said nothing about a hat in Hogwarts, A History. Then again, this Sorting Ceremony appeared to be some kind of closely guarded secret – no doubt designed to terrify first years. He took a surreptitious look around the room at the other students. Some of them looked none too bright and they were still here, so he decided that this Sorting thing can't have been all that terrible.

He finally lifted his gaze to the teachers' table. In a large golden chair in the centre of the table sat Aunty Minerva. She was Head Mistress of Hogwarts and Roan's Godmother. On Aunty Minerva's right sat Roan's mother who was looking very proud and gave him a little wave.

"Is that your mum?" Aurelius asked.

"Yes," Roan replied and felt a hot blush race up him neck.

"What does she teach?"

"Potions."

"What about the man next to her?" the girl behind him asked eagerly.

Roan looked and was about to say 'Uncle Draco' but he caught himself in time and said; "Professor Malfoy. He teaches Transfiguration." He looked behind him at the girl who was looking as though Transfiguration was going to be her favorite subject, and she hadn't even had a lesson yet.

Roan had been warned not to go gossiping about the teachers he knew, especially Uncle Draco. Roan was not the type to go gossiping about anyone, but he wasn't quite sure why they were so concerned about him saying anything about Uncle Draco. He had been told very specifically that discussing the fact that Uncle Draco lived with Uncle Harry was not allowed. He figured that it had something to do with Uncle Harry being Harry Potter and people always loved anything to do with Harry Potter. The Longbottom boy was a classic example of the kind of adoration Roan's Godfather inspired. Roan was allowed to tell people that Harry Potter was his Godfather, but he really didn't want to let that on just yet. Looking back at Uncle Draco, Roan wondered if he would ever be lucky enough to live with his best friend when he left school.

But then that was odd too because Uncle Harry always said that mummy and Uncle Ron were his best friends – so Uncle Draco must be something else. Roan had no idea what.

The Hat suddenly burst into life and began to sing and Roan almost leapt out of his skin in shock. He listened intently to the song, realizing that if the hat was singing then it would probably be a good idea for him to listen. However, when the song was finished he arched an eyebrow and felt thoroughly cheated.

He cast a glance at his mother and realized that he must have had that same look as his father thing again, because mummy was looking at him and getting teary as she always did when he did something that she considered cute.

"I don't get it," Aurelius said, "what the hell was that about?"

"It means we just have to try the hat on," Roan explained, thinking that Aurelius was very much in the none too bright student category. "We try the hat on and it Sorts us."

"Oh thank god for that," Aurelius grinned at him, "I was so worried that they were going to make us do some kind of test."

Roan looked at the old hat and felt his stomach roll. He had put off thinking about what house he was going to end up in. His mother had been a Gryffindor, best friend of Harry Potter and one of the group that had defeated Lord Voldemort, who from all accounts had been one of the greatest threats of all time. His mother was brave and intelligent and pretty and he looked nothing like her.

Roan looked like his father, the former Professor and Head of Slytherin house. Severus Snape now worked with Aunty Lavender in Diagon Alley and their shop was very popular. There were always orders to be filled, and during the Christmas Shopping times the line actually went out the door and down the Alley. He had once been a spy and Roan could believe that. Daddy could always manage to creep up on Rhiannon and Roan and scare them half to death. He could be very cranky and solemn, intelligent, cunning and resourceful and while Roan looked like him, he didn't believe that he had those same qualities. Whenever anyone mentioned his father they always followed by describing how frightening he was at school. Roan acknowledged that his father could be a little scary – especially when he was angry, but anyone who had seen him tickle Rhiannon until she almost wet her pants could never think him frightening. And Aunty Lavender often said that he wasn't mean, he just had a 'waspish wit that stupid people found intimidating'.

Roan's problem was that he didn't think he was like either of them. He was smart (or so everyone assured him) but he did not consider himself especially brave nor especially cunning. He knew basic spells and they worked for him, he could even do hexes with great skill, but the idea of actually doing them on some unsuspecting person was not all that appealing to him.

Professor Delancet was calling out names, making her way through the 'A's and as each student sat with the hat upon their head the hat would call out a house name and the relevant house table would burst into applause.

Roan really didn't think that he was going to get into Slytherin and he wondered if his father was going to be disappointed. He hoped not, because daddy could be very scathing when he was disappointed. Roan remembered Aunty Lavender's wedding to Uncle Ron's brother George. They had been seated with Uncle Ron's family and daddy had to sit beside Uncle Ron's brother Fred – someone that daddy described as a "twit" - and daddy had been very disappointed at the seating arrangements. After the meal had finished Fred had not returned to the table.

Up at the High Table Roan noticed Fred and George's mother talking to Aunty Minerva. Uncle Ron had always liked the story about how she had become a teacher. Apparently she had been teaching Aunty Pansy how to cook and had complained that Hogwarts didn't teach students to look after themselves. Uncle Ron had jokingly suggested that she take it up with Professor Dumbledore and she did. Next thing anyone knew Mrs. Weasley was Professor Weasley and she was teaching Home Economics.

Roan wasn't sure if he liked Mrs. Weasley. She was a lot stricter than mummy and she had often said that Roan and Rhiannon had an inordinate amount of Aunts and Uncles. Roan liked having so many people around him, he always pitied Charlie and Lily and their cousin Peonie who all had to be very polite and call everyone Mr. Mrs. or Miss.

Roan could see Peonie Weasley sitting at the table he now knew to be Gryffindor and he squirmed. Peonie had always been a bit of a bully and judging by the past summer, a year at school had not changed her.

The Longbottom boy had just been placed in Gryffindor and Peonie was clapping along with everybody else.

The spiteful girl was Bellatrix Nott and she was made the first Slytherin of the night, something that made her look well pleased.

Beside him Aurelius nudged his elbow into Roan's ribs and whispered, "You knew she'd end up there eh? They're all like that."

Seemingly Aurelius had forgotten that Roan's father was a Slytherin, and Roan almost rolled his eyes. The comment didn't ring true anyway. Uncle Draco was head of Slytherin House and he was plenty of fun, and Aunty Pansy, who was the nicest person Roan knew, had been a Slytherin as well. But then again, Roan didn't know them at school, and Uncle Harry was always joking about how bad Uncle Draco had been.

Uncle Harry had been an Auror for a short time, but he now worked in International Wizard Relations for the Ministry. He had been in Amsterdam for two whole months and mummy said that Uncle Draco missed him terribly. Roan missed him too. Uncle Harry had always let Roan ride on his broom when mummy wasn't watching. Uncle Harry had been a Gryffindor. A famous Gryffindor. Roan didn't think he quite belonged there either.

"Snape, Roan"

Many who had Madam Snape as their Potions Mistress looked at the little boy with interest and Roan felt highly conspicuous. He noticed his mother lean forward expectantly and Uncle Draco grinned. Even Aunty Minerva gave him a tiny wink of encouragement.

Professor Delancet held the hat over his head. "Don't worry Roanie," she whispered, using the name his parents used for him at home, "this is a doddle."

The hat dropped onto his head and it was as though all the lights had suddenly been extinguished.

"You want to please everyone," a little voice suddenly said in his ear. "You want to be everything you think your parents want you to be."

Roan could only agree, but he dared not speak.

"Problem is that you can't please everyone, can you? Gryffindor or Slytherin, Slytherin or Gryffindor, you can't decide where you belong. Consider the possibilities. You could be very powerful, you have the ability and you would be welcome into either house. But what do _you_ want?"

"I want to know _everything_ ," Roan thought and the hat evidently heard him.

"You want knowledge because you think knowledge is power," the hat whispered in reply.

"Well, it _is_ ," Roan thought, thinking it patently obvious that knowledge was indeed power.

"Well then, there is only one thing for that," said the hat, "RAVENCLAW!"

Roan heard the hat shout the last word out to the whole hall and his eyes opened wide in surprise. The hat was pulled from his head and he turned around to look at his mother, thinking that perhaps she would be upset. Instead he found her clapping with a smile on her face and she had to stop to wipe a tear from her eye. Uncle Draco was also grinning, doing something with a coin in his hand. Roan knew what he was doing; sending a message to daddy to tell him what house Roan had been placed in. He hesitated only a moment before stepping away from the stool and walking to his new housemates to start his time at Hogwarts.

****

NOTES:  
Sorry the epilogue took so long, I completely forgot to post it!

Thankyou to everyone who took the time to read Objects - and a special thankyou to everyone who reviewed it and who voted for it in Multifaceted.


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